It's been over a year since I posted anything, and not for lack of material. Stories pile themselves in my head, and it's time to type some of them out.
"Laverne" was brought back to my open room, and right from the get-go, a strong crazy vibe was palpable. I always say that there are a few trademarks of the insane:
1. Untamed female facial hair
2. Wearing a puffy coat (especially old-school Seahawks or Raiders) on a hot day
3. Insisting on representing oneself in court
4. There are more, but I can't remember right now
Laverne met #1 and #2. Probably #3, too, but I was not privy to that information.
Her chief complaint was that her husband was trying to kill her. She thought he was putting Drano in her cereal in the mornings. "Why not just stop eating food he gives you?" one might ask. And one might ask to no avail. Please see aforementioned list.
I introduced myself as usual, and started asking her why she came in today. "He scratched a death threat in my bong," Laverne answered, with intensity in her eyes.
"What did it say?" I asked.
"I'M GONNA KILL YOU, YOU MOTHER FUCKING BITCH WHORE," she replied.
"Laverne, I'm concerned that you may be thinking things or seeing things that aren't reality."
"Here. Let me show ya." Laverne grabbed her ratty, stained backpack, rummaged through it for a minute, and then sure enough, pulled out her bong. And a magnifying glass.
She said, "Jenny, you look right here, and use the magnifying glass, and tell me what you see."
Peering carefully through the glass, I inspected all aspects of the bong, praying that no one would enter the room during such an investigation.
"Laverne, it doesn't say anything. It's just some random scratches in the glue. There are no letters or words. From your urine, I know that you've had marijuana and meth. I think someone has probably laced one of those drugs with acid or something else that's making you see and think things that aren't real."
"Jenny, thank you for telling me that," she said. She hugged me hard, and then went on to tell me a bit about her life. She lived with constant nausea, for which she smoked pot. Marijuana is cheaper and easier to come by than prescribed anti-nausea medication for many people, so that was her preferred drug.
We talked a little more, and she told me that she knew Jesus died for her, but that she was pretty bad. I told her that's why He died--for bad people like us--so we could be free. She said, "Yes, I know," and gathered up her belongings, and shuffled out the door.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Friday, May 28, 2010
Walking the Line
Today I took care of a patient who used to be an ER nurse. She's married to a man who used to be an ER nurse. After years of diverting and shooting up Dilaudid and other drugs, both she and her husband lost their nursing licenses, their jobs, and their health. She checked in today because she's detoxing off of methadone and alcohol. In order to function, she has to drink alcohol every half hour. Even during the night, she wakes up every 30 minutes to take a drink.
This woman brought her 10 year old son to the ER with her. He sat in the corner and drowned out reality by playing his hand-held video game. She has other children, too.
Her veins are scars, and her limbs are pock-marked with scars from shooting up for so many years. She laughs at everything, but the smile didn't reach her eyes.
She terrified me.
In nursing school, I remember learning about a shocking percentage of nurses that end up abusing drugs and stealing medications from work, or even using at work. It seems like such a huge line to cross. And yet she crossed it.
Because of God's grace, I'm the one wearing scrubs. Hopefully I'll never be the one without a license, detoxing in an ER. But the reality of such things scares me.
This woman brought her 10 year old son to the ER with her. He sat in the corner and drowned out reality by playing his hand-held video game. She has other children, too.
Her veins are scars, and her limbs are pock-marked with scars from shooting up for so many years. She laughs at everything, but the smile didn't reach her eyes.
She terrified me.
In nursing school, I remember learning about a shocking percentage of nurses that end up abusing drugs and stealing medications from work, or even using at work. It seems like such a huge line to cross. And yet she crossed it.
Because of God's grace, I'm the one wearing scrubs. Hopefully I'll never be the one without a license, detoxing in an ER. But the reality of such things scares me.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Opportunities for Regret
During this last work rotation, I met a few people that have not left my mind. I've actually prayed for them each, several times. This is unusual since often, I have forgotten yesterday's work entirely as I rush into today's workload.
The first was Margaret, a woman who had had multiple miscarriages. She was angry, and crying in a wheelchair in the ER waiting room, and I apologized for the wait (about 2 hours) as I rolled her back to one of my rooms. Hallway, actually. As soon as I could, I got her into a room, and heard her story. She was about 10 weeks along, had just stopped taking Prometrium, and had had a sudden onset of bleeding while at work. She was scared, panicked, anxious, and upset. Instead of telling her "we won't really be able to do anything except an ultrasound since you're so early in this pregnancy," I just listened. Blood work was sent off, a pelvic exam was done, and off she went to ultrasound. Her husband waited in the room. Hours later, I saw her leaving, and I asked what had happened. Her entire face was glowing, and the anger and fear had been replaced with gratitude and hope. "The baby is still alive, and that's all I could ask for. Now we'll keep praying." I've been praying, too, Margaret.
Next on the list of patients who made an impression was a young lady, 18, who had just found out she was pregnant. She was sobbing, but for a different reason than Margaret. This patient wanted us to refer her somewhere for an abortion since "I want this out of me." My heart felt heavy. I wished I could somehow say something to give her hope, or help her realize another option, but she was hysterical. I had the social worker go in and talk with her and give her whatever information she wanted. I just pray she'll think about this decision and how it will impact not only the baby's existence, but her own life for years to come.
And finally on the list, a 60-year old man who came to the ER simply because he was afraid of dying. Recently diagnosed with cancer, he'd had a few radiation treatments and thought he was handling everything well. But over the past few days, he'd been overwhelmed with feelings of worry about dying alone from cancer. I asked him if he had any kind of faith in anything. He said, "No. I'm not spiritual at all." I wanted to tell him that yes, he was. And that was why he was worried--because he is a spiritual being and there is a spiritual reality. But it didn't feel like the right time to say that, so the doctor saw the patient, and we referred him to some counseling. Maybe somewhere along the line, after the antidepressants, and the antianxiety meds, and the counseling, God will shine into His life with His truth.
So anyway, I felt like I was of absolutely no help to these three people in the long run. I can only pray that God will help them through other people they meet further along in their journeys. And this makes me wonder if the ER is really where I should be. But it's where I am, so there you have it.
The first was Margaret, a woman who had had multiple miscarriages. She was angry, and crying in a wheelchair in the ER waiting room, and I apologized for the wait (about 2 hours) as I rolled her back to one of my rooms. Hallway, actually. As soon as I could, I got her into a room, and heard her story. She was about 10 weeks along, had just stopped taking Prometrium, and had had a sudden onset of bleeding while at work. She was scared, panicked, anxious, and upset. Instead of telling her "we won't really be able to do anything except an ultrasound since you're so early in this pregnancy," I just listened. Blood work was sent off, a pelvic exam was done, and off she went to ultrasound. Her husband waited in the room. Hours later, I saw her leaving, and I asked what had happened. Her entire face was glowing, and the anger and fear had been replaced with gratitude and hope. "The baby is still alive, and that's all I could ask for. Now we'll keep praying." I've been praying, too, Margaret.
Next on the list of patients who made an impression was a young lady, 18, who had just found out she was pregnant. She was sobbing, but for a different reason than Margaret. This patient wanted us to refer her somewhere for an abortion since "I want this out of me." My heart felt heavy. I wished I could somehow say something to give her hope, or help her realize another option, but she was hysterical. I had the social worker go in and talk with her and give her whatever information she wanted. I just pray she'll think about this decision and how it will impact not only the baby's existence, but her own life for years to come.
And finally on the list, a 60-year old man who came to the ER simply because he was afraid of dying. Recently diagnosed with cancer, he'd had a few radiation treatments and thought he was handling everything well. But over the past few days, he'd been overwhelmed with feelings of worry about dying alone from cancer. I asked him if he had any kind of faith in anything. He said, "No. I'm not spiritual at all." I wanted to tell him that yes, he was. And that was why he was worried--because he is a spiritual being and there is a spiritual reality. But it didn't feel like the right time to say that, so the doctor saw the patient, and we referred him to some counseling. Maybe somewhere along the line, after the antidepressants, and the antianxiety meds, and the counseling, God will shine into His life with His truth.
So anyway, I felt like I was of absolutely no help to these three people in the long run. I can only pray that God will help them through other people they meet further along in their journeys. And this makes me wonder if the ER is really where I should be. But it's where I am, so there you have it.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Unsure
Although I started this blog with the intention of MUCH more frequent postings, it's turned out that I'm not a diligent blogger. Big surprise. It's just an electronic version of my pile of half -empty journals that intermittently chronicle three decades of life.
Part of it is that I don't want to be a chronic whiner. Especially about work, which is so difficult even with a positive attitude. I'm also unsure at this point what I really want to share publicly about my life.
Another aspect is the fake Hollywoodish stuff where Meg Ryan sends out her emails "into the void" or Julie writes to the scores of "servantless American cooks" or Sarah Jessica Parker sums it all up in one question. I don't necessarily want to be like them.
Deep down, I'm just insecure enough to want validation from friends, or even strangers online. But my pride keeps me from writing from the real depths of myself.
One of my life goals is to write a book. Whether fiction or nonfiction, I'm not sure. And I don't know how to approach this goal. Perhaps this blog, if I were to be diligent about it, could serve as fodder for a book about work. Or I could broaden the blog's scope to be about my life in general. Either way, it requires a commitment and dedication that may be beyond me.
Also, I have no idea how to even put pictures on this blog thingy, make it look chic or artsy, or organize it to be more attractive. So....those are my thoughts right now.
Part of it is that I don't want to be a chronic whiner. Especially about work, which is so difficult even with a positive attitude. I'm also unsure at this point what I really want to share publicly about my life.
Another aspect is the fake Hollywoodish stuff where Meg Ryan sends out her emails "into the void" or Julie writes to the scores of "servantless American cooks" or Sarah Jessica Parker sums it all up in one question. I don't necessarily want to be like them.
Deep down, I'm just insecure enough to want validation from friends, or even strangers online. But my pride keeps me from writing from the real depths of myself.
One of my life goals is to write a book. Whether fiction or nonfiction, I'm not sure. And I don't know how to approach this goal. Perhaps this blog, if I were to be diligent about it, could serve as fodder for a book about work. Or I could broaden the blog's scope to be about my life in general. Either way, it requires a commitment and dedication that may be beyond me.
Also, I have no idea how to even put pictures on this blog thingy, make it look chic or artsy, or organize it to be more attractive. So....those are my thoughts right now.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Totally Unnatural
My friend and fellow nurse, Elise, asked me to come into one of the patient rooms with her to help prepare her patient's eyes for cornea donation (actually, the word used is "harvesting" but that just seems too grotesque and industrial).
"She died from thyroid cancer with mets," Elise explained as we entered the dimly lit room. The family had said their goodbyes and gone home. Unthinkingly, my hand flitted to my own thyroid. Although her body was already cold, the woman didn't really look dead. I kept waiting for her chest to rise. It didn't.
I asked what the woman's name was, and Elise told me. Even though we knew somewhere deep down that she couldn't hear us, we still explained what we were about to do. Holding her eyelids open gently, I watched as Elise instilled saline in the woman's already cloudy eyes, and then I taped the eyelids closed. I fought the temptation to wipe what looked like salty tears from her cheeks.
"Should we put another blanket on her?" Elise asked.
"No. She's gone," I said.
We left her with her knitted hat on her head, her hands folded. Chest unmoving.
Death is not natural.
"She died from thyroid cancer with mets," Elise explained as we entered the dimly lit room. The family had said their goodbyes and gone home. Unthinkingly, my hand flitted to my own thyroid. Although her body was already cold, the woman didn't really look dead. I kept waiting for her chest to rise. It didn't.
I asked what the woman's name was, and Elise told me. Even though we knew somewhere deep down that she couldn't hear us, we still explained what we were about to do. Holding her eyelids open gently, I watched as Elise instilled saline in the woman's already cloudy eyes, and then I taped the eyelids closed. I fought the temptation to wipe what looked like salty tears from her cheeks.
"Should we put another blanket on her?" Elise asked.
"No. She's gone," I said.
We left her with her knitted hat on her head, her hands folded. Chest unmoving.
Death is not natural.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Surprise
During my last shift, I checked in an ambulance that brought in an 87-year old man. Chief complaint: decreased LOC. His eyes were almost gunked shut, his skin and mucous membranes were dry, and he answered questions with barely understandable words. His body was weak and limp.
I did the usual nursing things....started an IV, drew blood, got blood cultures, took a rectal temp, got vital signs and an EKG, and ordered the typical gamut of stuff. I left the room to chart and check on my other patients.
A little bit later, after the patient returned from x-ray and CT, I looked over to the room and saw, below the curtain, two feet encased in navy blue socks, standing by the bed. Racing to the room, I threw the curtain aside to find my 87-year old man, IV yanked out, blood dripping down his arm, oxygen tubing off, all EKG leads off, gown off, standing completely naked except for the aforementioned socks, peeing on the floor.
He had removed all the wires and tubes that beset him, and climbed over the rails of the bed. Apparently his level of consciousness was not so low after all.
I did the usual nursing things....started an IV, drew blood, got blood cultures, took a rectal temp, got vital signs and an EKG, and ordered the typical gamut of stuff. I left the room to chart and check on my other patients.
A little bit later, after the patient returned from x-ray and CT, I looked over to the room and saw, below the curtain, two feet encased in navy blue socks, standing by the bed. Racing to the room, I threw the curtain aside to find my 87-year old man, IV yanked out, blood dripping down his arm, oxygen tubing off, all EKG leads off, gown off, standing completely naked except for the aforementioned socks, peeing on the floor.
He had removed all the wires and tubes that beset him, and climbed over the rails of the bed. Apparently his level of consciousness was not so low after all.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Good Question
The other day, a patient asked me, "Do you have any pets?" Immediately, I pictured Spike and his cute little mustached face and hilarious personality. I replied, "Yes, a little Cairn Terrier. How about you?"
She told me about her three Italian Greyhounds, and showed me pictures on her phone.
It struck me suddenly that this is a fabulous question to ask people. It's not invasive, it won't make the childless people hurt, and there may be some fascinating stories behind the answers.
Usually, patients and other strangers ask me if I have children. I say, "No, not yet" and leave it at that, quickly getting back into my therapeutic nursing communication mode to get the focus off me and back onto the patient. But I always feel the ache of having to say "No, not yet" over and over again. It just felt so good to be able to say, "Yes!" to the pet question.
She told me about her three Italian Greyhounds, and showed me pictures on her phone.
It struck me suddenly that this is a fabulous question to ask people. It's not invasive, it won't make the childless people hurt, and there may be some fascinating stories behind the answers.
Usually, patients and other strangers ask me if I have children. I say, "No, not yet" and leave it at that, quickly getting back into my therapeutic nursing communication mode to get the focus off me and back onto the patient. But I always feel the ache of having to say "No, not yet" over and over again. It just felt so good to be able to say, "Yes!" to the pet question.
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