Gotta love an admit like this! Schizo, homeless. Found down on Christmas. Please leave homeless people alone. This man's Christmas gift may have been to finally die. Stage 4 neck cancer is not something you want to continue living with. Not to mention that now we are spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on a man who refuses to let us take care of the VERY large mass on his neck that is oozing and reeking, who will probably die without invasive care. So what do we do? Let's put a central line and feed him through his IV for about a thousand dollars a bag. Give him a bag a day. Maybe place a PEG tube. I pray I never, never, ever have to have a PEG tube. Life just goes so down hill from there, and stays down. Being alive but not "living." Not my idea of fun.
And to top it all off, the nurse giving report tells me he likes to drink from his urinal!!!!
I am glad it is not me. But if I ever get to that point, please do not revive me!
For now it is good to be me though, because he will not arrive on my floor until after 7....that means I will already be done and if I am really luck will not even have to meet the man. That is a problem for night shift!
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Page for the day
Pager goes off....pull pager off waist band...read page.
"Quit checking your pager like you are paranoid or something!"
I love my colleagues.
"Quit checking your pager like you are paranoid or something!"
I love my colleagues.
Pray for no snow!
Off to Denver Thrusday. There is supposed to be a big storm rolling through. Let's all pray it does not hit until after I have left.
Other than that, I do not have much to add. Except this "Good to be me." One of my good friends, Crystal, is a dietician here at my hospital. One perk, she had to do "test trays." Basically I look through our menu, order whatever I want and a few things some of the other nurses want, and then after it is delivered, she had to check the temperature and quality of the food. Then I get to eat it~! We have the best brownies!!!!! Another perk of being a nurse! It is good to be me!
Other than that, I do not have much to add. Except this "Good to be me." One of my good friends, Crystal, is a dietician here at my hospital. One perk, she had to do "test trays." Basically I look through our menu, order whatever I want and a few things some of the other nurses want, and then after it is delivered, she had to check the temperature and quality of the food. Then I get to eat it~! We have the best brownies!!!!! Another perk of being a nurse! It is good to be me!
Monday, January 08, 2007
Smells....ew!
You were probably thinking this would be a blog about work. It's not. You can read it without taking a deep breathe in wondering whether or not to continue with this one....
My roommate is half white boy, half Chinese. Walking into the house after work makes the culture gap that much more apparent. I normally do not notice cultural differences unless I have left to go search it out. But when I open the door and step inside and nearly vomit myself, well, I am reminded.
I have no idea what he makes, but every night it is another funky nauseating smell wafting through the house. Before, when we were still talking, he would explain what he was making, and half the time I could pronounce it. About a quarter of the time I would try it. Half those times I liked it. The past 3 days though, I am holding my breathe to get upstairs so I can light a nice smelling candle in my own room.
You would think nurses could stomach anything. Mostly we can. But we each have our own little "gross out" things. For me, undigested food that has been vomited usually can catch a good little gag reflex off me. List of foods I will never eat again: honey-nut cheerios, certain spagetti sauces, tomato soup and a special "hospital medley" of vegetables (peas, carrots and corn. If they are individual, ok. If all mixed, forget it.)
I still love my job. And a bit of advice: anethesia and food do not mix. Even if your doctor lets you eat after surgery, stick with clear juice until the next day. Unless you like practicing bulemia!
My roommate is half white boy, half Chinese. Walking into the house after work makes the culture gap that much more apparent. I normally do not notice cultural differences unless I have left to go search it out. But when I open the door and step inside and nearly vomit myself, well, I am reminded.
I have no idea what he makes, but every night it is another funky nauseating smell wafting through the house. Before, when we were still talking, he would explain what he was making, and half the time I could pronounce it. About a quarter of the time I would try it. Half those times I liked it. The past 3 days though, I am holding my breathe to get upstairs so I can light a nice smelling candle in my own room.
You would think nurses could stomach anything. Mostly we can. But we each have our own little "gross out" things. For me, undigested food that has been vomited usually can catch a good little gag reflex off me. List of foods I will never eat again: honey-nut cheerios, certain spagetti sauces, tomato soup and a special "hospital medley" of vegetables (peas, carrots and corn. If they are individual, ok. If all mixed, forget it.)
I still love my job. And a bit of advice: anethesia and food do not mix. Even if your doctor lets you eat after surgery, stick with clear juice until the next day. Unless you like practicing bulemia!
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Darned pager!
This thing goes off with a single beep and a good vibration. Does not mean I enjoy it. The beep and buzz are usually accompanied by an eye roll and an "Ugh." The best pages are the ones from your friends goofing off. It's not bad if it for a phone call...assuming you are sitting by the phone.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Not at 5, suprisingly
You gotta love a day that starts out with a full blown code. Most hospitals have "pre-code" teams, the kind you call when your patient is starting to look like they are trying to die on you. Or not try, but succeeding to. However you want to look at it. Anyhow, not my patient was looking like crap. The wrong shade of yellow. And he couldn't breath. But that was the least of his problems. Long story short, he got himself to the ICU and promptly died. Not a good day for the man. I almost joke in my head that if he was going to get sick and die, it was a good thing he was already in the hospital! But then I think, if I am about to die, I certainly do not want to be in the hospital.
His last words were, "I can't breathe. Help me." That was at 9. I think they pronounced him by 11. It got me thinking, what do I want the last words on my lips to be? "Watch this!" "Betcha I can!" "Woooooo-hoooooooo!!!!!!" or "I love you!" I plan to live to be 122, so I guess I have a while to figure it out. Of course, if God decides to take me sooner, that's fine too.
It was invigorating and reaffirming to have a code though, all jokes aside. I feel my heart tighten as the distinctive beeping overhead starts and hold my breath waiting for the room number to be called. Sometimes you already know what number they are going to say. I did this time.
Calling out for more glove, a flush, suction, it makes me feel so alive, part of something bigger than me, like I am doing exactly what I have been primed to do. Amidst all the chaos, there becomes a synergy of focus between the doctors, rt's, and nurses in the code. Funny how for a quick moment, you don't hear anything. The more codes you are at, the more your hearing improves and soon you notice every beep, order yelled across the room, even the ripping of the plastic around the flush.
The first time I did chest compressions, I cringed at how with the first compression, 3 ribs snapped under my palms, and the jerky grinding of the edges of broken ribs against each other was just so unnatural. So is the resistance the body gives against each compression. By the end of a day after giving compressions, you feel muscles you never knew you had, and you are sore for the next 2 days. A strange reminder of how delicate life can be.
I did not do compressions today, I did not hardly do anything with him, once the code started. He was pretty much doomed from the get-go. But it still felt good to be part of the team. In oncology, we do not usually fight death so physically. Usually it is slowly dragged out over days and hours before finally slipping in. I am okay with it though. And again, I am reminded of how lucky I am to be able to leave this place at 7 and go home. Tomorrow I will go hiking to celebrate. It is good to be me.
His last words were, "I can't breathe. Help me." That was at 9. I think they pronounced him by 11. It got me thinking, what do I want the last words on my lips to be? "Watch this!" "Betcha I can!" "Woooooo-hoooooooo!!!!!!" or "I love you!" I plan to live to be 122, so I guess I have a while to figure it out. Of course, if God decides to take me sooner, that's fine too.
It was invigorating and reaffirming to have a code though, all jokes aside. I feel my heart tighten as the distinctive beeping overhead starts and hold my breath waiting for the room number to be called. Sometimes you already know what number they are going to say. I did this time.
Calling out for more glove, a flush, suction, it makes me feel so alive, part of something bigger than me, like I am doing exactly what I have been primed to do. Amidst all the chaos, there becomes a synergy of focus between the doctors, rt's, and nurses in the code. Funny how for a quick moment, you don't hear anything. The more codes you are at, the more your hearing improves and soon you notice every beep, order yelled across the room, even the ripping of the plastic around the flush.
The first time I did chest compressions, I cringed at how with the first compression, 3 ribs snapped under my palms, and the jerky grinding of the edges of broken ribs against each other was just so unnatural. So is the resistance the body gives against each compression. By the end of a day after giving compressions, you feel muscles you never knew you had, and you are sore for the next 2 days. A strange reminder of how delicate life can be.
I did not do compressions today, I did not hardly do anything with him, once the code started. He was pretty much doomed from the get-go. But it still felt good to be part of the team. In oncology, we do not usually fight death so physically. Usually it is slowly dragged out over days and hours before finally slipping in. I am okay with it though. And again, I am reminded of how lucky I am to be able to leave this place at 7 and go home. Tomorrow I will go hiking to celebrate. It is good to be me.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Noncompliant
So I don't floss. That's my vice! Am I so wrong for that? I think it is only a problem if you are a dentist. It could be worse. A lot worse. But it's not. It's good to be me!
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