A recent patient (P) of mine was a peripheral co-worker of my mother's. They both worked in different departments of a large institution.
I recognized her immediately but, fortunately, she didn't remember me. I'm always ill at ease when acquaintances of my parents meet up with me and express their own grief.
As the day went on, people from this workplace came and went visiting P. Well, someone inexorably knew me. Sigh. The news spread like wildfire through the waves of visitors and I was stopped a number of times in the hall to answer questions about my life, how my family is without my mom and to listen to how sad they were, how much they miss her etc.
Don't get me wrong, it's comforting to know that so many people were affected by mom. She was an amazing special woman. She was, without a doubt, my closest friend.
It just makes for an uncomfortable workday.
I'm training someone in the end stages of orientation. This person was practically running the group and so I was able to avoid more of the prolonged interaction.
It wasn't until the end of the night that I had to re-enter the room solo.
P. saw me and thrust out her hand.
"Kate! There's another Kate on the floor whose mom worked with me. It was so tragic her dad died and then her mom... Oh.. What was her name? Oh.. Not Kate.. that's the daughter's name.. What was her name?..."
I sighed.
"Her name was M___. I'm Kate ___. The only Kate on the floor."
P. stared at me for a moment then burst out in sobs.
"Oh.. your mom was the sweetest lady ever. We all miss her so much and think about her every day... blah blah blah blah."
I found myself comforting a hysterical patient for over forty five minutes about the death of my own mother; a woman whose name she couldn't even remember!
To cap it off, P. sent candy and a card to the unit after her discharge thanking everyone personally for their care. "Sue was so kind and helpful. Janet was so smart... etc" But she didn't remember my name! I laughed and laughed. It was so poetically ironic!
I sure ate some candy though.
Showing posts with label hospital. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hospital. Show all posts
Monday, April 9, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Quality of Life
We have a patient on the floor, a social admit. Adorable. She’s completely independent, mobility-wise, and wanders the floor constantly, asking that her ever-present Styrofoam cup of prune juice to be reheated. She flirts with all the men, telling them they’re the spitting image of Clark Gable, sugar lips and all.
From the desk, I see her make her revolution around the unit. She pauses next to the room with the moaning confused man with a hip fracture. I see her raise her hand to the doorframe. She makes no move to go in or even peek. But her hand trembles and she’s obviously affected.
She continues on to the end of the hall, looks out the window at the pitiful view, then returns to the desk and asks me to heat up her prune juice. As far as I can tell, she doesn’t actually drink the stuff but promise her a new fresh cup and she beams.
She makes several rounds, pausing outside noisy rooms and staring out the windows at the end of the corridor. This time of year, the trees are naked and the sky is grumpy. She’s riveted though. She always comes back to the desk and chats with me. It’s the same short conversation throughout the night. She doesn’t feel like doing the dishes. Can they wait until the morning? She’s tired and wants to go to bed.
Despite her fatigue, she makes another rotation. Whenever one of our staff passes in her in the hall, they call out her name with a bright hello. She beams and tells them that they’re the spitting image of someone famous. I look like Ann Margaret. Preeti looks like Pocohantas and Aimee’s Linda Blair.
We talk about patients and quality of their life. This lovely special little old lady has been able to affect the quality of life of everyone on this unit. Talk about giving back. We’re blessed to be a way station on her journey.
From the desk, I see her make her revolution around the unit. She pauses next to the room with the moaning confused man with a hip fracture. I see her raise her hand to the doorframe. She makes no move to go in or even peek. But her hand trembles and she’s obviously affected.
She continues on to the end of the hall, looks out the window at the pitiful view, then returns to the desk and asks me to heat up her prune juice. As far as I can tell, she doesn’t actually drink the stuff but promise her a new fresh cup and she beams.
She makes several rounds, pausing outside noisy rooms and staring out the windows at the end of the corridor. This time of year, the trees are naked and the sky is grumpy. She’s riveted though. She always comes back to the desk and chats with me. It’s the same short conversation throughout the night. She doesn’t feel like doing the dishes. Can they wait until the morning? She’s tired and wants to go to bed.
Despite her fatigue, she makes another rotation. Whenever one of our staff passes in her in the hall, they call out her name with a bright hello. She beams and tells them that they’re the spitting image of someone famous. I look like Ann Margaret. Preeti looks like Pocohantas and Aimee’s Linda Blair.
We talk about patients and quality of their life. This lovely special little old lady has been able to affect the quality of life of everyone on this unit. Talk about giving back. We’re blessed to be a way station on her journey.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Hovering
So my nurse manager has been present on the unit later than usual these last few days. He’s interviewing graduate nurses for our summer influx. Between his interviews, he hovers around the desk. I think it makes the nurses nervous, but I used to work for an honest-to-god narcissistic personality disorder with an impulse control problem. Mauro used to chase us down the restaurant screaming and spitting in front of the guests, just to make sure we dropped a check in a timely manner. He was CRAZY. Hovering Nurse Manager (HNM) is easy-peasy in comparison.
It’s actually been great. I think he’s finally seeing how busy our shift can get. Yesterday, the phone was ringing nonstop, the call bells dinging and two of our surgeons were piling their charts haphazardly across half-wall of the nurses’ station. BAM! Two of the charts fell and exploded like ticker tape flutter across the floor.
The nicer of the surgeons picked up the mess and brought it to me to reorganize. The other surgeon complained to his PA about the cheap folders the hospital uses for charts. HNM whispers to me that maybe he should call another nurse in. I snorted and said that it was calm compared to the previous day and he turned new eyes toward the scene.
The resident, interrupted by her pager and a call from the covering attending, swore during her dictation. As she rushed to the PACU (something about p-waves), she called out a verbal orthopedic consult request to Mean Surgeon. He turned to Lackey PA and snidely commented that she was going to save a life. HNM turned to me and asked if I had heard her swear. I mentioned my childhood with brothers and an acutely developed selective hearing. People swear. There are bigger things to worry about.
As I shuffled through the disordered progress notes, we chatted. I mentioned my love of Nick Drake and the new discovery of Damien Rice’s music and HNM said he totally digs him! How awesome is that? I am a little resentful though that so many people have known about this great musician for so long and didn’t share the riches (Yes, I’m talking to you, Solitary Diner ☺).
I notice that the admission orders for one of the charts being reassembled demands that the patient (admitted last week) be under cardiac monitoring. OOPS. I point it out to Nurse Manager then page Cursing Resident. She calls from, ironically, the telemetry unit. I hear in the background: “GI Bleed-rapid response”. I hand the phone to HNM who takes a telephone order to discontinue cardiac monitoring.
I update the Kardex, manage a new flurry of phone calls and flag down HNM to record a critical labs result. I admit it is nice having an RN at the desk. Normally our charge takes a group and so I’m left responsible for all the mechanics of unit flow. Though I like having my finger on the pulse of the action, it sucks that there’s such limitation to my scope: I can’t take telephone orders, record critical lab results, verify medication orders or ‘waste’ narcotics (verify the use of only a partial dose) for the nurses. I sit helplessly waiting for someone certified to have time to step in.
I often stay late to finish up everything I’m allowed to (checking diets and labs, stuffing charts etc) but it sucks when there are dozens of charts to be checked (hours of work) and I’m on the elevator waving goodbye at the bleak faces of nurses with a longer night ahead of them.
This week, I hope that HNM realizes how much work gets delayed because he doesn’t schedule a nurse to run the desk after 1500. I really think that if the powers that be break it down, it would be much cheaper to eliminate my job and add a nurse to the roll call. Having a nurse at the desk would likely eliminate at least 6 hours overtime every night. That combined with my income minus said nurse’s wage would amount to more than $45,000 saved for the institution every year.
It’s actually been great. I think he’s finally seeing how busy our shift can get. Yesterday, the phone was ringing nonstop, the call bells dinging and two of our surgeons were piling their charts haphazardly across half-wall of the nurses’ station. BAM! Two of the charts fell and exploded like ticker tape flutter across the floor.
The nicer of the surgeons picked up the mess and brought it to me to reorganize. The other surgeon complained to his PA about the cheap folders the hospital uses for charts. HNM whispers to me that maybe he should call another nurse in. I snorted and said that it was calm compared to the previous day and he turned new eyes toward the scene.
The resident, interrupted by her pager and a call from the covering attending, swore during her dictation. As she rushed to the PACU (something about p-waves), she called out a verbal orthopedic consult request to Mean Surgeon. He turned to Lackey PA and snidely commented that she was going to save a life. HNM turned to me and asked if I had heard her swear. I mentioned my childhood with brothers and an acutely developed selective hearing. People swear. There are bigger things to worry about.
As I shuffled through the disordered progress notes, we chatted. I mentioned my love of Nick Drake and the new discovery of Damien Rice’s music and HNM said he totally digs him! How awesome is that? I am a little resentful though that so many people have known about this great musician for so long and didn’t share the riches (Yes, I’m talking to you, Solitary Diner ☺).
I notice that the admission orders for one of the charts being reassembled demands that the patient (admitted last week) be under cardiac monitoring. OOPS. I point it out to Nurse Manager then page Cursing Resident. She calls from, ironically, the telemetry unit. I hear in the background: “GI Bleed-rapid response”. I hand the phone to HNM who takes a telephone order to discontinue cardiac monitoring.
I update the Kardex, manage a new flurry of phone calls and flag down HNM to record a critical labs result. I admit it is nice having an RN at the desk. Normally our charge takes a group and so I’m left responsible for all the mechanics of unit flow. Though I like having my finger on the pulse of the action, it sucks that there’s such limitation to my scope: I can’t take telephone orders, record critical lab results, verify medication orders or ‘waste’ narcotics (verify the use of only a partial dose) for the nurses. I sit helplessly waiting for someone certified to have time to step in.
I often stay late to finish up everything I’m allowed to (checking diets and labs, stuffing charts etc) but it sucks when there are dozens of charts to be checked (hours of work) and I’m on the elevator waving goodbye at the bleak faces of nurses with a longer night ahead of them.
This week, I hope that HNM realizes how much work gets delayed because he doesn’t schedule a nurse to run the desk after 1500. I really think that if the powers that be break it down, it would be much cheaper to eliminate my job and add a nurse to the roll call. Having a nurse at the desk would likely eliminate at least 6 hours overtime every night. That combined with my income minus said nurse’s wage would amount to more than $45,000 saved for the institution every year.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Drink of Choice
It was a very busy day at work tonight. The hospitals in the area are at red alert; maximum census. We traded and juggled patients within our unit and with other floors to maximize bed usage. I'm the one responsible for making sure that, in these situations, the patient's television and meal services follow him/her.
We have different bed models and I have to make sure that the model bed in the room is suitable for the particular patient. Some beds can support the trapezes used by the orthopedic patients, others can't. Some beds can be lowered closer to the floor for the lols and loms who have trouble getting up. With a dozen discharges and admits/transfers, it can get fairly hectic.
All in all, there were dozens of little tasks that needed to be balanced throughout the night. Charge and I, deflected some of the stress fantasizing about paradise. It didn't include 72 virgins but rather several handsome men (we decided that we didn't need as many as 72), tropical beaches and endless backrubs and beverages.
Anyhoo, I mentioned that I don't care for most liquor but that an occasional scotch is divine.
One of the nurse's came back to the desk as I was describing my drink of choice: a rich, peaty scotch with hints of wood, straight up.
It wasn't until she laughed that I realized that it sounded like I was mixing my fantasies up. And so a new euphemism 'sipping the scotch' was born into our unit vernacular, joining, among others: "nasonexing the gift" -another sexual reference whose etymology is convoluted and traces back to the behavior of one of our frequent flyer patients.
Oh the things we come up with....
We have different bed models and I have to make sure that the model bed in the room is suitable for the particular patient. Some beds can support the trapezes used by the orthopedic patients, others can't. Some beds can be lowered closer to the floor for the lols and loms who have trouble getting up. With a dozen discharges and admits/transfers, it can get fairly hectic.
All in all, there were dozens of little tasks that needed to be balanced throughout the night. Charge and I, deflected some of the stress fantasizing about paradise. It didn't include 72 virgins but rather several handsome men (we decided that we didn't need as many as 72), tropical beaches and endless backrubs and beverages.
Anyhoo, I mentioned that I don't care for most liquor but that an occasional scotch is divine.
One of the nurse's came back to the desk as I was describing my drink of choice: a rich, peaty scotch with hints of wood, straight up.
It wasn't until she laughed that I realized that it sounded like I was mixing my fantasies up. And so a new euphemism 'sipping the scotch' was born into our unit vernacular, joining, among others: "nasonexing the gift" -another sexual reference whose etymology is convoluted and traces back to the behavior of one of our frequent flyer patients.
Oh the things we come up with....
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Outrage
It was a busy crazy day at work. I’m usually the only one on the desk on evening shifts; the charge nurse takes a group of patients. This week, the patient who will not be named was here again so I worked with Charge in that room and managed the desk.
We’re implementing a new rounding system next month and so I was also responsible for logging all patient call bell requests in preparation for the new protocol.
There was a water line rupture in the unit next to ours and the shut-off affected some of our patient rooms, public bathrooms and other facilities. I needed to contact Engineering, itemize the affected plumbing, and make other arrangements for patients and staff.
We also had a stroke response on one of our post-ops. I had to monitor the call, STAT orders, arrange for CT, and, afterwards, restock the crash cart. The house staff was going to send the patient to telemetry and I arranged the transfer between the units.
In the meantime, we received 2 contact precaution admissions from the ED and, with no available isolation rooms, I had to rearrange the already admitted patients, inform the nursing staff, direct the aides, contact housekeeping to clean the rooms and then admissions to confirm the computer transfers.
While the stroke response was occurring, the nursing supervisor arranged for a transfer of someone already downgraded to medical from telemetry to make room for our unfortunate patient.
It soon became apparent that our patient belonged in intensive care and not tele. I began those arrangements.
Despite the alleviation of urgency, the other unit decided to send up the transfer, walking! before we were ready. I scrambled to find somewhere for her while her room was prepared. Argh! Her meds hadn’t been hung and she was due for pain medicine so she complained the entire time while I tried to juggle everything. Her new nurse was still dealing with the stroke situation.
Finally things settled a bit and, ten minutes before shift change, the supervisor called about a non-urgent transfer from intensive care. “ICU only has two patients, can this wait until morning?” “No, this patient needs to start PT first thing in the am.” “Sigh, alright.” I HATE moving patients around at 11 pm. I think it’s hard enough for them to get sleep without the jostling and noise from rolling squeaking beds and housekeeping carts. But I took down the details, another iso-room needed! and began rearranging our patients.
The aides grumbled but they moved the patients. The call bell system erupted from all the newly awake patients. “I have to use the bathroom.” “Am I due for pain medicine?” “Will you call my family to let them know about the change?” etc..
11:10 One of the nurses from ICU called to give report. I told her that we weren’t ready yet. Our nurses were just starting report themselves.
“NO! I need to give report NOW.”
“Um. No you don’t. It’s a non-urgent transfer and I know that your shift isn’t over until 0700”
“We’re just starting an in-service. I want to give report before it starts. I won’t send the patient up for a while.” Sigh.
“Jackie would you mind taking report now? She’s insisting.” I rolled my eyes and handed the phone to an incredibly patient nurse. Jackie gets report and says that the patient’ll be up between 12 and 12:30.
11:15pm. I track down the housekeeper just before he finishes his shift and beg him to clean the room for our transfer.
11:17 ICU nurse calls with update on the transfer patient. I tell her that the nurses are in report and that Jackie will call back when she’s ready.
11:19 Housekeeping is still in the room cleaning. The elevator door opens and our patient steps off, white knuckles grasping his walker and the aide carrying his belongings. !!!!
“The room’s not ready! Why are you here!”
“Oh. I just came on. They told me to bring him up.”
“You have to go back down. We’re not ready.”
“I can’t go back down; They already stripped his bed, we don’t have anywhere to put him”
Seriously? I lead them down to the room and pull a chair out into the hall for the patient.
Following the aide back, I laid into her.
“We told you folks several times that we weren’t ready! This is inexcusable. You didn’t even bring him up in a wheelchair!”
“I’m sorry, I just came on. I’m just doing what they told me to.”
Sigh.
“I know that it’s not your fault but this is ridiculous!” Grumble Grumble.
The aide leaves and I go back to the room to get the patient settled in. When I come out, the nurse from ICU is yelling at Jackie.
“How dare you yell at my aide! Blah blah blah, miscommunication that’s all your fault.. blah blah blah..”
I could feel the hackles grow across my shoulders like the hump of a grizzly bear. I’m outraged and start to jump in but a nurse grabs my arm and I pause. Jackie diffuses the confrontation by apologizing and the ICU nurse righteously storms off.
I’m told that the ICU nurse is something of a barracuda, is always right and never lets things go. After she leaves, the nurses gather and complain about her unjustified behavior and how awful she is.
It’s now five days later and I’m still stewing over the situation. It makes me so mad when people like that ICU nurse get away with laziness, superiority, inconsideration and recklessness because people are afraid to call them on their crap.
In hindsight, I know that if I had gotten involved, the confrontation would have escalated. It wouldn’t have been fair to the night crew to spark it and then leave when my shift was over.
But I HATE that someone else gave an apology for my behavior. If my behavior calls for an apology, I want, I NEED, to be the one to offer it.
In this situation, though I cognitively recognize Jackie’s motivation to diffuse the situation, her apology stabs me viscerally. I know that I should just let it go but I’m so outraged.
We’re implementing a new rounding system next month and so I was also responsible for logging all patient call bell requests in preparation for the new protocol.
There was a water line rupture in the unit next to ours and the shut-off affected some of our patient rooms, public bathrooms and other facilities. I needed to contact Engineering, itemize the affected plumbing, and make other arrangements for patients and staff.
We also had a stroke response on one of our post-ops. I had to monitor the call, STAT orders, arrange for CT, and, afterwards, restock the crash cart. The house staff was going to send the patient to telemetry and I arranged the transfer between the units.
In the meantime, we received 2 contact precaution admissions from the ED and, with no available isolation rooms, I had to rearrange the already admitted patients, inform the nursing staff, direct the aides, contact housekeeping to clean the rooms and then admissions to confirm the computer transfers.
While the stroke response was occurring, the nursing supervisor arranged for a transfer of someone already downgraded to medical from telemetry to make room for our unfortunate patient.
It soon became apparent that our patient belonged in intensive care and not tele. I began those arrangements.
Despite the alleviation of urgency, the other unit decided to send up the transfer, walking! before we were ready. I scrambled to find somewhere for her while her room was prepared. Argh! Her meds hadn’t been hung and she was due for pain medicine so she complained the entire time while I tried to juggle everything. Her new nurse was still dealing with the stroke situation.
Finally things settled a bit and, ten minutes before shift change, the supervisor called about a non-urgent transfer from intensive care. “ICU only has two patients, can this wait until morning?” “No, this patient needs to start PT first thing in the am.” “Sigh, alright.” I HATE moving patients around at 11 pm. I think it’s hard enough for them to get sleep without the jostling and noise from rolling squeaking beds and housekeeping carts. But I took down the details, another iso-room needed! and began rearranging our patients.
The aides grumbled but they moved the patients. The call bell system erupted from all the newly awake patients. “I have to use the bathroom.” “Am I due for pain medicine?” “Will you call my family to let them know about the change?” etc..
11:10 One of the nurses from ICU called to give report. I told her that we weren’t ready yet. Our nurses were just starting report themselves.
“NO! I need to give report NOW.”
“Um. No you don’t. It’s a non-urgent transfer and I know that your shift isn’t over until 0700”
“We’re just starting an in-service. I want to give report before it starts. I won’t send the patient up for a while.” Sigh.
“Jackie would you mind taking report now? She’s insisting.” I rolled my eyes and handed the phone to an incredibly patient nurse. Jackie gets report and says that the patient’ll be up between 12 and 12:30.
11:15pm. I track down the housekeeper just before he finishes his shift and beg him to clean the room for our transfer.
11:17 ICU nurse calls with update on the transfer patient. I tell her that the nurses are in report and that Jackie will call back when she’s ready.
11:19 Housekeeping is still in the room cleaning. The elevator door opens and our patient steps off, white knuckles grasping his walker and the aide carrying his belongings. !!!!
“The room’s not ready! Why are you here!”
“Oh. I just came on. They told me to bring him up.”
“You have to go back down. We’re not ready.”
“I can’t go back down; They already stripped his bed, we don’t have anywhere to put him”
Seriously? I lead them down to the room and pull a chair out into the hall for the patient.
Following the aide back, I laid into her.
“We told you folks several times that we weren’t ready! This is inexcusable. You didn’t even bring him up in a wheelchair!”
“I’m sorry, I just came on. I’m just doing what they told me to.”
Sigh.
“I know that it’s not your fault but this is ridiculous!” Grumble Grumble.
The aide leaves and I go back to the room to get the patient settled in. When I come out, the nurse from ICU is yelling at Jackie.
“How dare you yell at my aide! Blah blah blah, miscommunication that’s all your fault.. blah blah blah..”
I could feel the hackles grow across my shoulders like the hump of a grizzly bear. I’m outraged and start to jump in but a nurse grabs my arm and I pause. Jackie diffuses the confrontation by apologizing and the ICU nurse righteously storms off.
I’m told that the ICU nurse is something of a barracuda, is always right and never lets things go. After she leaves, the nurses gather and complain about her unjustified behavior and how awful she is.
It’s now five days later and I’m still stewing over the situation. It makes me so mad when people like that ICU nurse get away with laziness, superiority, inconsideration and recklessness because people are afraid to call them on their crap.
In hindsight, I know that if I had gotten involved, the confrontation would have escalated. It wouldn’t have been fair to the night crew to spark it and then leave when my shift was over.
But I HATE that someone else gave an apology for my behavior. If my behavior calls for an apology, I want, I NEED, to be the one to offer it.
In this situation, though I cognitively recognize Jackie’s motivation to diffuse the situation, her apology stabs me viscerally. I know that I should just let it go but I’m so outraged.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
New Year's Resolution.
It was a rough end of the year for me. I try hard not to resent the families abandon their older relatives at the emergency department... "Grandma (who is 96 and unable to walk without assistance) attacked us"... My own family, parents, grandparents, siblings has decreased to two (my brother and grandmother) over the last few years. I don't know if I'll ever share the joy of the winter seasons again like I did in years before. I hate that people can just throw the gift of family away.
My heart breaks when the holiday passes and the poor 'social admissions' wonder what they did, cry for their families or stare blankly at the wall. The families rarely seemed to visit.
I did have a lovely time reflecting on the year to come though. I'm hopeful that it will be a monumental series of experiences.
I don't normally make resolutions but I'm determined to squeeze out every bit of adventure, enjoyment, stimulation and happiness that I can. I have a tendency to be complacent; spending my time reading in my apartment and being alone. The last few years of my life have revolved around taking care of my mother, my grandmother, my brother's family and work. I hadn't made any plans because other things were more important. I fell into a deep gloomy rut.
I want to get up and go every morning, make plans and rediscover an anticipation of life that I've somehow lost. I won't wait anymore for things to just happen; I will do.
I've got months of time off saved up and I'm going to use every drop before I leave my job.
That's my New Year's Resolution.
Cheers all.
My heart breaks when the holiday passes and the poor 'social admissions' wonder what they did, cry for their families or stare blankly at the wall. The families rarely seemed to visit.
I did have a lovely time reflecting on the year to come though. I'm hopeful that it will be a monumental series of experiences.
I don't normally make resolutions but I'm determined to squeeze out every bit of adventure, enjoyment, stimulation and happiness that I can. I have a tendency to be complacent; spending my time reading in my apartment and being alone. The last few years of my life have revolved around taking care of my mother, my grandmother, my brother's family and work. I hadn't made any plans because other things were more important. I fell into a deep gloomy rut.
I want to get up and go every morning, make plans and rediscover an anticipation of life that I've somehow lost. I won't wait anymore for things to just happen; I will do.
I've got months of time off saved up and I'm going to use every drop before I leave my job.
That's my New Year's Resolution.
Cheers all.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Names
I like words and letters. I like how shuffling them around can result in endless meanings.
When I was a little girl, one of my favorite activities was playing boggle by myself. I would shake the dice and then find as many words as I could in two minutes. After the buzzer, I would scrutinize the board, writing down all the words that I hadn't found during the time limit.
If I found more before the buzzer than after, I won.
On the bus, I rearrange advertisement script in my mind, coming up with as many new sentences as I can. Or I try to just change character spaces. (shoestore up the stairs = shoes tore up the stairs)
When I study the unit census for staffing purposes, I automatically pick out the names with alternate meanings and make up sentences. I don't even really think about it, it just happens.
When I see the last names: Armstrong, Cox, Foster, Good, Paynes, I am going to chuckle. When the next two admissions are named Burns and Seaman. I will start to laugh uncontrollably.
Then I'll be embarrassed when my coworkers ask me what's so funny.
Sigh.
When I was a little girl, one of my favorite activities was playing boggle by myself. I would shake the dice and then find as many words as I could in two minutes. After the buzzer, I would scrutinize the board, writing down all the words that I hadn't found during the time limit.
If I found more before the buzzer than after, I won.
On the bus, I rearrange advertisement script in my mind, coming up with as many new sentences as I can. Or I try to just change character spaces. (shoestore up the stairs = shoes tore up the stairs)
When I study the unit census for staffing purposes, I automatically pick out the names with alternate meanings and make up sentences. I don't even really think about it, it just happens.
When I see the last names: Armstrong, Cox, Foster, Good, Paynes, I am going to chuckle. When the next two admissions are named Burns and Seaman. I will start to laugh uncontrollably.
Then I'll be embarrassed when my coworkers ask me what's so funny.
Sigh.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Manly Food
One of my patients last night was eating voraciously. In addition to an enormous meal from the hospital kitchen, he devoured 3 TV dinners, 1 PB&J sandwich and two pieces of toast and jelly.
Around 0200, he called out for another snack. After discussing it with his nurse, I brought him a couple of saltine packets.
A tirade spewed forth.
"I'm a MAN. I've traveled the world and have a MAN's appetite. I'm not a little boy and don't want no little boy snacks!"
He threw the crackers at me and said he wanted a MAN's snack.
I asked him what he wanted and he told me:
"a chocolate sundae."
I wonder how he feels about quiche.
Around 0200, he called out for another snack. After discussing it with his nurse, I brought him a couple of saltine packets.
A tirade spewed forth.
"I'm a MAN. I've traveled the world and have a MAN's appetite. I'm not a little boy and don't want no little boy snacks!"
He threw the crackers at me and said he wanted a MAN's snack.
I asked him what he wanted and he told me:
"a chocolate sundae."
I wonder how he feels about quiche.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Thursday Interview
My first (and thus far, only) medical school interview is this Thursday. I had hoped that I would have heard from another school by now. I'm incredibly stressed that this may be my one and only chance.
I decided to splurge and spend $30 more on a hotel room within walking distance to the campus.
My aunt- the crazy (in a fun way) one who took me on my first trip abroad (Turkey) wants to go with me. My youngest uncle lives nearby in an institution for developmentally disabled and she wants to visit him while I'm on campus.
I'm torn. It'll be nice to have someone there afterwards to talk about the experience but I'm afraid that she'll be critical of my weirdness beforehand (you know- waking up 4 hours early to obsess over my hair, clothes, review possible questions/answers etc). Besides, she doesn't really sleep. I learned that early during our Turkish adventure. I'm working the night shift all this week and will probably want to rest most of the day before the interview.
One of my favorite patients died yesterday. I found out through the hospital grapevine that he had been readmitted at the other hospital in our system for pneumonia and quickly crashed. He had been a quadriplegic who just conquered all obstacles. He ran his own business, drove and just celebrated life. It breaks my heart that someone so strong and inspirational is gone. RIP Dwayne. You'll be missed.
I decided to splurge and spend $30 more on a hotel room within walking distance to the campus.
My aunt- the crazy (in a fun way) one who took me on my first trip abroad (Turkey) wants to go with me. My youngest uncle lives nearby in an institution for developmentally disabled and she wants to visit him while I'm on campus.
I'm torn. It'll be nice to have someone there afterwards to talk about the experience but I'm afraid that she'll be critical of my weirdness beforehand (you know- waking up 4 hours early to obsess over my hair, clothes, review possible questions/answers etc). Besides, she doesn't really sleep. I learned that early during our Turkish adventure. I'm working the night shift all this week and will probably want to rest most of the day before the interview.
One of my favorite patients died yesterday. I found out through the hospital grapevine that he had been readmitted at the other hospital in our system for pneumonia and quickly crashed. He had been a quadriplegic who just conquered all obstacles. He ran his own business, drove and just celebrated life. It breaks my heart that someone so strong and inspirational is gone. RIP Dwayne. You'll be missed.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
The Catheter Interrogation
First thing this morning, a urologist came to place a supra pubic catheter bedside. The patient had been retaining crazy amounts of urine and neither his nurses nor his orthopedic surgeon could place a foley in him. So urology was consulted.
The doctor had called in a list of supplies that he'd need bedside by 0530. Apparently he was rather rude to the evening secretary about it, saying 'everything better be ready", in a 'you people always mess up' sort of way. But I know the evening secretary is something of a sensitive whiner, so I took her report with a grain of salt.
He arrived examined the patient and then decided to try his hand at placing the foley first, giving me and the patient's nurse a new list of supplies. We have coude catheters in different sizes and foley kits stocked on the floor so much of his list was immediately manageable. But he wanted Urojet (lidocaine) syringes too. We don't have them in our McKessen so it was a short process to get them up to the floor. He needed to write an order, I faxed it to pharmacy and then immediately ran down to pick them up.
He was NOT HAPPY.
Though it took 10 minutes tops to get them (5 of which were taken by him arguing about writing the stupid order), he was incredibly put out. I heard about how ridiculous we were, how he doesn't have time for this stupid delay.. etc, eye rolls and disdain galore.
Fortunately for the patient, he was able to successfully place the foley. Whew.
A few minutes later, I stopped in the room to check on the patient and I noticed that his collection bag had over a 1200 cc in it.
I remembered reading somewhere that draining the bladder too quickly can cause the patient major discomfort so I pointed it out to his nurse. She was busy doing her end of shift med pass and instructed me to ask the urologist if she should clamp the catheter.
So I did.
I thought he would attack me.
He completely lost his temper and flayed into me.
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! Why do you think to clamp the catheter? Why?" and then he waited. It took me a moment to realize that it wasn't a rhetorical questions but that he actually wanted a response.
I tried told him that I had read somewhere that it could hurt the patient if the bladder emptied too quickly but as soon as I started talking he restarted his rampage.
I was mortified. I tried to explain that I was just an aide and the messenger for the nurse but he kept at me. I can't remember everything that he said; I was flustered and just trying to escape. I remember him saying that they don't teach nurses to be doctors and thrusting a new order at me, written in block letters as though I were in grade school, DO NOT CLAMP CATHETER. It was the only completely legible order he'd written thus far.
He ended up staying to yell at me for longer than it took him to place the foley.
So much for his valuable time....
I'm totally re-writing one of my evil book characters in his honor and he's (the character) is going to suffer.
.
The doctor had called in a list of supplies that he'd need bedside by 0530. Apparently he was rather rude to the evening secretary about it, saying 'everything better be ready", in a 'you people always mess up' sort of way. But I know the evening secretary is something of a sensitive whiner, so I took her report with a grain of salt.
He arrived examined the patient and then decided to try his hand at placing the foley first, giving me and the patient's nurse a new list of supplies. We have coude catheters in different sizes and foley kits stocked on the floor so much of his list was immediately manageable. But he wanted Urojet (lidocaine) syringes too. We don't have them in our McKessen so it was a short process to get them up to the floor. He needed to write an order, I faxed it to pharmacy and then immediately ran down to pick them up.
He was NOT HAPPY.
Though it took 10 minutes tops to get them (5 of which were taken by him arguing about writing the stupid order), he was incredibly put out. I heard about how ridiculous we were, how he doesn't have time for this stupid delay.. etc, eye rolls and disdain galore.
Fortunately for the patient, he was able to successfully place the foley. Whew.
A few minutes later, I stopped in the room to check on the patient and I noticed that his collection bag had over a 1200 cc in it.
I remembered reading somewhere that draining the bladder too quickly can cause the patient major discomfort so I pointed it out to his nurse. She was busy doing her end of shift med pass and instructed me to ask the urologist if she should clamp the catheter.
So I did.
I thought he would attack me.
He completely lost his temper and flayed into me.
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! Why do you think to clamp the catheter? Why?" and then he waited. It took me a moment to realize that it wasn't a rhetorical questions but that he actually wanted a response.
I tried told him that I had read somewhere that it could hurt the patient if the bladder emptied too quickly but as soon as I started talking he restarted his rampage.
I was mortified. I tried to explain that I was just an aide and the messenger for the nurse but he kept at me. I can't remember everything that he said; I was flustered and just trying to escape. I remember him saying that they don't teach nurses to be doctors and thrusting a new order at me, written in block letters as though I were in grade school, DO NOT CLAMP CATHETER. It was the only completely legible order he'd written thus far.
He ended up staying to yell at me for longer than it took him to place the foley.
So much for his valuable time....
I'm totally re-writing one of my evil book characters in his honor and he's (the character) is going to suffer.
.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Impatience.
There's a nurse on our unit who come in nightly to regale us with tales of how awful her husband is. She dyes her hair only because he prefers blondes. She can't eat this or that because he thinks she's fat. He won't help her at all. He expects her to support them with her night shift and then take care of everything like chores, shopping, all aspects of child care while he sits on his duff and watches television during the day. She's always so tired blah blah blah.
Tonight's tale was about how he controls all of the money including her wages using direct deposit into in accounts that she has no access to. If he's feeling generous, he allots her a $5 weekly allowance. If she ¡misbehaves!, he'll take the money back.
First, I think she's totally full of crap. I don't doubt that the husband is a total jackass, but I'm pretty sure she stretches the truth unrecognizably.
She comes in with her stories and everyone fawns over her.. "oh he's awful!" "He should be shot for or " "You should kick his ass to the curb" and she preens under the attention.
I usually try to avoid engaging with the more manipulative staff but she put me on the spot and directly asked me what I thought in front of the rest of the crew. I tried to prevaricate but she was a bloodhound, asking me over and over.
I finally turned and told her that I thought she was spineless, that if she had such an issue with his money control to deposit her paycheck into her own damn account. He didn't hold a gun to her head when she signed up for direct deposit.
After that, she answered every phone call with "U8, Spineless speaking." Seriously, how old is she?
I would love to be a fly on the wall when she goes home and regales her husband to all of the stretched stories of how awful everyone is toward her at work.
On a more positive note, tonight was hellishly busy but I was working with my two all time favorite nurses and we totally rocked it. I love how efficient, sensitive and cool they are with the patients. Over the last year, I've learned so much from them about how to work with even the craziest, most difficult patients calmly and effectively.
Around 0300, "Dr. Armstrong" was paged to U7, one of the more dangerous pysch floors. We then heard thumping and shouts in the south stairwell. Unperturbed, Jackie, not taking her eyes off the IV line she was priming, strolls over and flips the lock on the door knob. A "Dr. Armstrong" is the hospital code for a combative patient. Moments after she locked the door, we heard a thud and more yelling.
Later, we discovered from the nursing supervisor, that one of the patients actually kicked in the door of the secured ward and escaped into the stairwell. I only caught some of the details in passing. Apparently, the patient had enough time to defecate on the stairs before pushing past the security guards to escape downtown. He assaulted one of the police officers chasing him and is now in jail. It capped the already crazy night.
Tonight's tale was about how he controls all of the money including her wages using direct deposit into in accounts that she has no access to. If he's feeling generous, he allots her a $5 weekly allowance. If she ¡misbehaves!, he'll take the money back.
First, I think she's totally full of crap. I don't doubt that the husband is a total jackass, but I'm pretty sure she stretches the truth unrecognizably.
She comes in with her stories and everyone fawns over her.. "oh he's awful!" "He should be shot for
I usually try to avoid engaging with the more manipulative staff but she put me on the spot and directly asked me what I thought in front of the rest of the crew. I tried to prevaricate but she was a bloodhound, asking me over and over.
I finally turned and told her that I thought she was spineless, that if she had such an issue with his money control to deposit her paycheck into her own damn account. He didn't hold a gun to her head when she signed up for direct deposit.
After that, she answered every phone call with "U8, Spineless speaking." Seriously, how old is she?
I would love to be a fly on the wall when she goes home and regales her husband to all of the stretched stories of how awful everyone is toward her at work.
On a more positive note, tonight was hellishly busy but I was working with my two all time favorite nurses and we totally rocked it. I love how efficient, sensitive and cool they are with the patients. Over the last year, I've learned so much from them about how to work with even the craziest, most difficult patients calmly and effectively.
Around 0300, "Dr. Armstrong" was paged to U7, one of the more dangerous pysch floors. We then heard thumping and shouts in the south stairwell. Unperturbed, Jackie, not taking her eyes off the IV line she was priming, strolls over and flips the lock on the door knob. A "Dr. Armstrong" is the hospital code for a combative patient. Moments after she locked the door, we heard a thud and more yelling.
Later, we discovered from the nursing supervisor, that one of the patients actually kicked in the door of the secured ward and escaped into the stairwell. I only caught some of the details in passing. Apparently, the patient had enough time to defecate on the stairs before pushing past the security guards to escape downtown. He assaulted one of the police officers chasing him and is now in jail. It capped the already crazy night.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
New Digs
I'm settling into my new apartment. It's a tiny studio in an old Victorian house with ceilings higher than the room is wide...
I'm using an old refurbished library study table for dining. I last rented a mother-in-law basement apartment, draped in grapevines and filled with books, that I christened the li-burrow. I haven't yet thought of a clever name for this new place. I'll post some more photos when I finally organize the living/bedroom. It's filled with boxes now and not very inspirational.
We have a patient at work. I'm not able to express the turmoil that this patient throws the hospital into when (s)he is here. I've been on the unit for over a year an this is the second visit. It's an incredibly stressful time for nursing staff, manager and hospital administration. This patient only comes to our floor for reasons that I can't go into without violating HIPAA. I can only say that they're unique and awful. I'm not experienced or clever enough to adequately change the details and still portray the magnitude of this person's effect on us. We get extra staff and the nursing supervisor relocates her center of command to our floor for the duration of the patient's stay. It doesn't help with the stress levels of the nursing staff. My manager hand selects the staff assigned to the room. Though he picks his most reliable, most patient and most experienced, it's not an honor.
The last time, the patient stayed 2 months. I'm not looking forward to another two months of complete anxiety before every shift. Bah.
I received my first med school interview offer. I'm thrilled but my loneliness yesterday was amplified in my hunt for someone to share my excitement. I mentioned it to my coworkers but they were more concerned that this means I may not be there next year. My brother disapproves of my ambition (I'm too old) and my west coast friends couldn't talk last night.
I'm still excited though!!
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Isolation
All five of our isolation rooms are sequestered in one hallway on our unit. I was walking back from helping woundvac dressing change and found myself stopping in each room to chat with the patients. I knew them all well. I chatted with Dean* (MRSA) about his kids; Ira* (VRE) shared his news about his UNOS status; Frances* (MRSA) asked me for a cigarette and we laughed together at the inside joke; and for a few minutes, Robert* (CDIFF and MRSA)and I competed to see who could get the most Jeopardy questions right. He won. Stupid "Sports Venues".
I headed back to the desk and, out of curiosity, checked to see how long my friends on the I-ward had been here. At July 7th, Ira was the newest admission. Three months. Like the others, he's settled in. He has his favorite snacks in the kitchen fridge, a mountain of pillows to burrow into, piles of linens, dressing changes and unopened Nepro spilling out of cupboards and closet. Photos of his dog are on the wall and an extension cord keeps his cellphone and nook within reach.
After her transplant, my mother lived in the hospital for 11 months. We settled her in as best we could with soft throws, poster-sized photos of family on the wall, homemade hospital gowns, radio, magazines, toys, anything that we could think of to make it more comfortable. She hated it. She had no interest in anything but getting home.
I don't see that with my I-ward friends. Both Robert and Frances have been on the verge of going home several times over the months but they got stressed, become enraged and argued with the discharge planners. Then they had relapses, Robert became septic and Frances' tissue flap reopened.
Over the weeks, I've learned bits and pieces about my patients lives. Ironically, the time they spend in the I-ward is less isolating than their home lives. They each have a different story but, without exception, they are lonely and enjoy the 'perks' of living in a hospital: constant company, all the food they can eat, any need/desire filled by just pressing a call bell button.
Over the last year, I've noticed a steady increase of 'social admissions' to our unit. I think it's due to the aging local population, the depressed economy and the cutbacks at the nearby psychiatric hospital. A lot of its inpatients have been reevaluated to outpatient status. The recent flooding also destroyed 2 nearby nursing homes and countless homes.
It's scary and sad to me, that the awfulness of being in a hospital is actually preferential to what awaits outside.
Though my mom never made it out of her hospital stay, she had something better to look forward to, to work for. We all, up until the very end, had hope and desire that she'd make it home. In that way, we were fortunate.
No news on the med school application front.
I headed back to the desk and, out of curiosity, checked to see how long my friends on the I-ward had been here. At July 7th, Ira was the newest admission. Three months. Like the others, he's settled in. He has his favorite snacks in the kitchen fridge, a mountain of pillows to burrow into, piles of linens, dressing changes and unopened Nepro spilling out of cupboards and closet. Photos of his dog are on the wall and an extension cord keeps his cellphone and nook within reach.
After her transplant, my mother lived in the hospital for 11 months. We settled her in as best we could with soft throws, poster-sized photos of family on the wall, homemade hospital gowns, radio, magazines, toys, anything that we could think of to make it more comfortable. She hated it. She had no interest in anything but getting home.
I don't see that with my I-ward friends. Both Robert and Frances have been on the verge of going home several times over the months but they got stressed, become enraged and argued with the discharge planners. Then they had relapses, Robert became septic and Frances' tissue flap reopened.
Over the weeks, I've learned bits and pieces about my patients lives. Ironically, the time they spend in the I-ward is less isolating than their home lives. They each have a different story but, without exception, they are lonely and enjoy the 'perks' of living in a hospital: constant company, all the food they can eat, any need/desire filled by just pressing a call bell button.
Over the last year, I've noticed a steady increase of 'social admissions' to our unit. I think it's due to the aging local population, the depressed economy and the cutbacks at the nearby psychiatric hospital. A lot of its inpatients have been reevaluated to outpatient status. The recent flooding also destroyed 2 nearby nursing homes and countless homes.
It's scary and sad to me, that the awfulness of being in a hospital is actually preferential to what awaits outside.
Though my mom never made it out of her hospital stay, she had something better to look forward to, to work for. We all, up until the very end, had hope and desire that she'd make it home. In that way, we were fortunate.
No news on the med school application front.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
My Month of Scramble
I sold my mom's house last week; the buyers paid cash and are forgoing an inspection which means a fast closing. EEK. and Yay.
I'm scrambling to find new housing, storage for my parents' things that we're keeping, and all the little errands that one doesn't realize until that time of moving is upon them.
I received my second med school rejection, ironically from my #2 dream school. Bah.
Work is interesting. Last week, one of the patients developed a really weird icky crush on me. He followed me around and asked me every day to join him in a new activity. Play Scrabble? Go to the zoo? In all honesty, it was creepy because he was not mentally impaired in the slightest. Somehow it's easier to understand/think cute/tolerate a patient's romantic interest if they're elderly and demented or young and MR. I don't understand how a middle aged man could rationally think it a good idea to ask out the nurses/aides.
We had a mandatory aide meeting yesterday, a punitive grousefest. Apparently, the aides aren't doing their jobs properly, have bad attitudes and things need to change. This was all based on our recent Press Ganey scores. The nursing aides are the front line to patient care after all. Later, my manager pulled me aside, basically told me that he didn't have any problems with my work and asked me to 'keep an eye on the moods of my coworkers'. I don't really know what he meant by that but I felt manipulated nonetheless.
I love autumn. I drove to work today and noticed the trees preening at their reflection in the river. I can't remember seeing the leaves change last year. It's astonishing how grief and sadness can blind one to such beauty.
I'm scrambling to find new housing, storage for my parents' things that we're keeping, and all the little errands that one doesn't realize until that time of moving is upon them.
I received my second med school rejection, ironically from my #2 dream school. Bah.
Work is interesting. Last week, one of the patients developed a really weird icky crush on me. He followed me around and asked me every day to join him in a new activity. Play Scrabble? Go to the zoo? In all honesty, it was creepy because he was not mentally impaired in the slightest. Somehow it's easier to understand/think cute/tolerate a patient's romantic interest if they're elderly and demented or young and MR. I don't understand how a middle aged man could rationally think it a good idea to ask out the nurses/aides.
We had a mandatory aide meeting yesterday, a punitive grousefest. Apparently, the aides aren't doing their jobs properly, have bad attitudes and things need to change. This was all based on our recent Press Ganey scores. The nursing aides are the front line to patient care after all. Later, my manager pulled me aside, basically told me that he didn't have any problems with my work and asked me to 'keep an eye on the moods of my coworkers'. I don't really know what he meant by that but I felt manipulated nonetheless.
I love autumn. I drove to work today and noticed the trees preening at their reflection in the river. I can't remember seeing the leaves change last year. It's astonishing how grief and sadness can blind one to such beauty.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Nighttime Serenade
Tonight, I stayed several hours past my shift end to sit with a confused elderly patient. "George" had a psych history and a broken hip. For various reasons, he had a triple lumen catheter and an order for TPN. Just before 2nd shift he pulled out his line and offered it to his nurse like a wedding ring, asking her to marry him.
I had worked with George before. He was unfailingly cheerful and absolutely adorable in his confusion. He was definitely one of my favorite patients. Because he was tugging on his foley and newly placed peripheral line, I volunteered to stay and guard his wandering hands.
He called me his little black Jewish kitty-cat and asked to pet my fur (I'm neither black nor Jewish) but happily acknowledged that I was a cat who didn't like to be petted and sang to me instead: "Kitty-Cat I Love You" to the tune of Bull Moose Jackson's big hit.
George didn't seem to have any short term memory; he constantly asked where he was, did his parents know he was there, why we had kidnapped him, when I was going to have my baby. (I'm not pregnant). *sigh*
Despite his misinterpretation of my physical homage to all things cheese (my little potbelly), we had a great time together telling stories and tearing pictures of cats out of the stack of magazines that someone had left him.
Outwardly, he and my mother were complete opposites. He was a tall black millwright and my mom was a tiny white schoolteacher. She died young and he had reached a blessed age. But their eyes were the same: brown and slightly bulging. He and my mom were both confused but so very loving and so happy to meet new faces.
It breaks my heart that he's transferring tomorrow to a university hospital for surgery and I won't be able to follow up on him.
I had worked with George before. He was unfailingly cheerful and absolutely adorable in his confusion. He was definitely one of my favorite patients. Because he was tugging on his foley and newly placed peripheral line, I volunteered to stay and guard his wandering hands.
He called me his little black Jewish kitty-cat and asked to pet my fur (I'm neither black nor Jewish) but happily acknowledged that I was a cat who didn't like to be petted and sang to me instead: "Kitty-Cat I Love You" to the tune of Bull Moose Jackson's big hit.
George didn't seem to have any short term memory; he constantly asked where he was, did his parents know he was there, why we had kidnapped him, when I was going to have my baby. (I'm not pregnant). *sigh*
Despite his misinterpretation of my physical homage to all things cheese (my little potbelly), we had a great time together telling stories and tearing pictures of cats out of the stack of magazines that someone had left him.
Outwardly, he and my mother were complete opposites. He was a tall black millwright and my mom was a tiny white schoolteacher. She died young and he had reached a blessed age. But their eyes were the same: brown and slightly bulging. He and my mom were both confused but so very loving and so happy to meet new faces.
It breaks my heart that he's transferring tomorrow to a university hospital for surgery and I won't be able to follow up on him.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Disaster
My area is under a state of emergency right now. I worked a 20 hour shift at the hospital yesterday and am looking into another long shift today. The region is devastated, without drinkable water and many homes without electricity. Emergency command centers and shelters have been set up throughout the county.
I'm amazed at how well everyone worked together these last couple of days. The folks who actually made it, driving hours in convoluted directions, without complaint buckled down to work and spirits were remarkably high. We didn't know how long we would be the only ones who would be able to work and so my manager set up a rotating schedule partway through the day so that we could get some sleep.
A rep whose presentation was canceled, dropped the food off on our floor and so we dined. Because we couldn't use the municipal water, our coffee dispenser was shut off (it is connected directly to the water line.) A neighbor of the hospital dropped off a couple of percolators so that we could refuel.
Another aide came in to relieve me around 4:00 this morning and I began my journey home. Only one bridge in the area is functional and so I have to drive 2 hours on a winding path in the opposite direction to get on the right side of the hill/river in order to get home.
I was the only car in the middle of nowhere when a red sports car wheeled in front of me and then over-corrected to go flying into the tree in someone's front yard.
Immediately stopped, I put my hazards on and called 9 1 1. Describing what happened to the operator, I got out of my car to approach the accident. As I'm walking up, the boy who had been driving, stumbled into the yard, turned to look at the car, said "oh shit!" and took off across the road into the woods.
And so I told the operator. She said someone would be out as soon as they can. Considering the area was in a state of emergency, that 'as soon as they can' was 2 hours and 15 minutes. After giving my statement, they let me go and I began the long trek home.
I'm amazed at how well everyone worked together these last couple of days. The folks who actually made it, driving hours in convoluted directions, without complaint buckled down to work and spirits were remarkably high. We didn't know how long we would be the only ones who would be able to work and so my manager set up a rotating schedule partway through the day so that we could get some sleep.
A rep whose presentation was canceled, dropped the food off on our floor and so we dined. Because we couldn't use the municipal water, our coffee dispenser was shut off (it is connected directly to the water line.) A neighbor of the hospital dropped off a couple of percolators so that we could refuel.
Another aide came in to relieve me around 4:00 this morning and I began my journey home. Only one bridge in the area is functional and so I have to drive 2 hours on a winding path in the opposite direction to get on the right side of the hill/river in order to get home.
I was the only car in the middle of nowhere when a red sports car wheeled in front of me and then over-corrected to go flying into the tree in someone's front yard.
Immediately stopped, I put my hazards on and called 9 1 1. Describing what happened to the operator, I got out of my car to approach the accident. As I'm walking up, the boy who had been driving, stumbled into the yard, turned to look at the car, said "oh shit!" and took off across the road into the woods.
And so I told the operator. She said someone would be out as soon as they can. Considering the area was in a state of emergency, that 'as soon as they can' was 2 hours and 15 minutes. After giving my statement, they let me go and I began the long trek home.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Changes (and cleaning)
I know that I've been subtle about my frustrations with the folks at work. (tongue in cheek) A UA on the third shift has given her notice and I volunteered to step in. My manager is very thankful that I'm helping out and I'm really thankful that I get to work permanently with a stronger team.
I'm going to miss the greater opportunity to talk with patients during 2nd shift. I've found, though, the last few months I've been scrambling so much to do both the secretary's and aide's work I didn't have time to spend with patients anyway. I'll be glad to wear just one hat on this new shift.
On the cleaning note, I was out of town this weekend. I spent Saturday and Sunday up at my family's cabin. Coming home, I found my cat sitting on the window sill behind the kitchen sink watching the squirrels on the deck. Like she did all last winter...
As I turned to make a cup of tea, a mouse, A MOUSE!, ran across the stove and down into one of the burners. UGH! What's the point in having a pain-in-the-ass-she's-lucky-she's-so-cute cat if she doesn't mind roommates of the rodent extraction? I HATE rodents. Always have. I barely tolerate chipmunks and squirrels outside and the thought of them in my house makes my skin crawl. Their sharp pointy teeth that never stop growing are creepy. Besides, all of my work in Yellowstone has made me uber-aware of awful diseases (hantavirus, LCM etc) spread by little pointy toothed vermin.
I immediately pulled the stove out from the wall and, using a bottle of bleach, began scrubbing every surface I could reach. In my entire kitchen. For 3 hours. Then I went down to the 24hour drug store and bought a couple of traps. So far, I've only caught one and let it go across the street in the woods. My uncle mocks me for not killing them. He says that they'll just come back. But I can't rationalize killing something just because I hate them. Otherwise, all old drivers who go half the speed limit and don't use their turn signals...
I'm going to miss the greater opportunity to talk with patients during 2nd shift. I've found, though, the last few months I've been scrambling so much to do both the secretary's and aide's work I didn't have time to spend with patients anyway. I'll be glad to wear just one hat on this new shift.
On the cleaning note, I was out of town this weekend. I spent Saturday and Sunday up at my family's cabin. Coming home, I found my cat sitting on the window sill behind the kitchen sink watching the squirrels on the deck. Like she did all last winter...
As I turned to make a cup of tea, a mouse, A MOUSE!, ran across the stove and down into one of the burners. UGH! What's the point in having a pain-in-the-ass-she's-lucky-she's-so-cute cat if she doesn't mind roommates of the rodent extraction? I HATE rodents. Always have. I barely tolerate chipmunks and squirrels outside and the thought of them in my house makes my skin crawl. Their sharp pointy teeth that never stop growing are creepy. Besides, all of my work in Yellowstone has made me uber-aware of awful diseases (hantavirus, LCM etc) spread by little pointy toothed vermin.
I immediately pulled the stove out from the wall and, using a bottle of bleach, began scrubbing every surface I could reach. In my entire kitchen. For 3 hours. Then I went down to the 24hour drug store and bought a couple of traps. So far, I've only caught one and let it go across the street in the woods. My uncle mocks me for not killing them. He says that they'll just come back. But I can't rationalize killing something just because I hate them. Otherwise, all old drivers who go half the speed limit and don't use their turn signals...
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Hurricane Savior
So... tonight wasn't as awful as I had feared. Vile Princess is terrified of the hurricane Irene. She lives on the river and "just knew" that her apartment was going to be flooded. I explained that we're several hundred miles from the coast and will probably have nothing more than some big winds.
She shook her head frantically and pointed to the satellite image. "It's headed right to us!" I grabbed her Mountain Dew bottle and blew, waving my hand behind it. See... wind felt here but stopped by the hills. Hooray for the Appalachians!
Now I'm her new BFF and she was positively sweet to me for the rest of the night. I hope her memory lasts. Wish me luck tomorrow!!
She shook her head frantically and pointed to the satellite image. "It's headed right to us!" I grabbed her Mountain Dew bottle and blew, waving my hand behind it. See... wind felt here but stopped by the hills. Hooray for the Appalachians!
Now I'm her new BFF and she was positively sweet to me for the rest of the night. I hope her memory lasts. Wish me luck tomorrow!!
Working Blues
I went to work yesterday refreshed and determined to maintain my good humour but the moods of some of my coworkers were just awful. I was running the desk and so was forced to be the central communicator for nurses, physicians, aides, and patients.
Usually, I get anxious when Dr. Pita* comes to the unit. Her mercurial temperament can be scary to work with. She can go from friendliness to dragon in three breaths. But yesterday, I was so happy that she decided to do all her dictating at our nurses' station. She was there for almost 3 hours which gave me a reprieve from the snipping and snarling of my coworkers. They're always more polite when a physician or supervisor is within earshot.
The girl who cried is one of the greatest culprits of nastiness. A significant responsibility of mine is to answer call bells and then call the nurse or aide needed to the room. I heard "Jesus Christ" (with accompanying eyeroll), "take them yourself-I'm done", "fine-FINE!"(with hand up, palm toward me) and other 'tude responses throughout the entire night.
One of the nurses commiserated with me after a particularly vile comment: "she's like that with me too." Argh. That almost makes it worse; I could almost rationalize her behavior if it was animosity solely directed toward me but that she just indiscriminately spews obnoxiousness...
Well, we're not allowed to police each other and I need to be more 'tolerant' of my coworkers. Bah. Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts.
Tonight I'm scheduled to work with the vile princess and another moody grumpy aide. I'm absolutely dreading going in. (think happy thoughts think happy thoughts think happy thoughts.. )
Usually, I get anxious when Dr. Pita* comes to the unit. Her mercurial temperament can be scary to work with. She can go from friendliness to dragon in three breaths. But yesterday, I was so happy that she decided to do all her dictating at our nurses' station. She was there for almost 3 hours which gave me a reprieve from the snipping and snarling of my coworkers. They're always more polite when a physician or supervisor is within earshot.
The girl who cried is one of the greatest culprits of nastiness. A significant responsibility of mine is to answer call bells and then call the nurse or aide needed to the room. I heard "Jesus Christ" (with accompanying eyeroll), "take them yourself-I'm done", "fine-FINE!"(with hand up, palm toward me) and other 'tude responses throughout the entire night.
One of the nurses commiserated with me after a particularly vile comment: "she's like that with me too." Argh. That almost makes it worse; I could almost rationalize her behavior if it was animosity solely directed toward me but that she just indiscriminately spews obnoxiousness...
Well, we're not allowed to police each other and I need to be more 'tolerant' of my coworkers. Bah. Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts.
Tonight I'm scheduled to work with the vile princess and another moody grumpy aide. I'm absolutely dreading going in. (think happy thoughts think happy thoughts think happy thoughts.. )
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