I LOVE PITA's
I'm sore.
My Feet ache.
My calves are burning.
My back is tight.
I have a headace.
Also, I smell something feirce. Now I don't mean my nose detects a strange odor. I mean I am exuding a funky smell; the smell of too many hospital odors.
It's been a tough 6 days. 12 hours shifts, on my feet. Running, running, running. I love being a nurse, but by day 6, all you can think is "There's no place like... anywhere but here!"
PITA's - Not the yummy frizbee like bread things that transfer hummus into my wattering mouth. Hospital PITA's.
Hospitals are places full of acronyms...
CVA = Cerebral Vascular Accident
TIA = Transient Ischemic Attack
SOB = Short of Breath (replaced now by DOE = Dyspnic on Exerction, as many patients didn't like being called a SOB)
TKA = Total Knee Arthroplasty
Then there are the ones that are UN-official
FOS = Full of Shit or in polite terms, constipated
GOMER = Get Out Of My Emergency Room, hurrying a patient out or transfering them to another facility so they are someone elses problem
CTD = Circling The Drain
TOTL = To Old To Live
PITA = Pain In The Ass
I LOVE PITA's. Yep, some days they get ya down, but when you can crack one, there is nothing like the feeling of making that connection. Today was a day full of PITA's. I'm tired, cranky, sore and looking forward to a long stretch off. I started my day dreading the PITA's, but ended up driving home with a smile on my face thinking about them.
Mr A, Mr B ad Mr C are all Vietnam Era Vets. I love working at the Vetran's hospital. I like working with men. Don't get me wrong, women can be ok, I even have some friends that are women, but by and large, they are some of the most whiney, needy patients on the planet. "Can I have a box of Tissues, oh, and a blanket, and a pain pill, and would you turn my light out, and would you move my TV closer, and can I have a snack and..." But never all at once. Nope, this list of requests (all reasonable, I admit) comes with 5 different trips down that long hallway in response to that blinking light outside the door. Men, now, they will put on the light, and when you ask over the speaker what they need, they will tell you, "Oh, I'm bleeding a lot. When you get a minute could you come check it out?" I love men as patients!
OK, back To Mr A. He had a CVA post CABG (which we call cabbage) CVA post CABG = Cerebral Vascular Accident (Stroke) post Coranary Artery Bypass Graft (heart bypass). He has given up. Doesn't try, is very depressed and is on the call light for every little thing. When you see that you have Mr A as your patient, you give a big sigh. He's just a lot of work, and a lot of heavy work. He can't move himself, so we have to use a lift system (imagine a crane hooked into the ceiling used to move people about), and he wants to get up and go back to bed every 30 minutes. It gets exhausting. Did I tell you he had given up? Oh yeah, wouldn't do anything for himself. Well today, we got him up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down, and I was tired. Got him into his wheelchair for the 4th time in 3 hours (literally) and I gave him a little pep talk. Told him he could decide if he was going to work in therapy to get stronger and do things for himself, or he could let everyone do everything for him forever and never be any dfferent than he is today. Simple words, some may think it was kinda harsh, but ya know what... He stayed in his chair for 3 hours, went outside to enjoy the sunny day for the frst time in 4 weeks, and went back to bed with a smile on his face and actually said thank you. Those little things mean the world to a nurse. We don't want or need flowers or candy; just tell us you appreciate what we have done, and try to make yourself better. That makes us smile.
Mr. B is afraid of needles, so much so that he has refused to take his insulin for the past 3 years and he has all kinds of major problems due to high blood sugar levels, including a horrible infection in his shoulder that could take his life. Imagine a 250# strapping ex-marine who stared down danger on a daily basis in the jungles of Viet Nam. He looked at death and risked his life day after day and was willing to face it again, just for fear of a needle. This infection must be treated with IV antibiotics, but IV's mean needles, and he can't make himself do it. I went in and talked to him, let him voice his concerns and discussed the pros and cons of IV therapy as well as the concequences he may face if he did not undergo IV therapy. He laid in his bed, shaking as I prepared the IV supplies. I talked to him, reassured him, talked him through the entire procedure and before you know it, the IV was in, he was getting the medication he needed and he actually smiled. None of the other nurses on the floor could beleive I had talked him into it. He had hollered, kicked, yelled and swore at anyone who came near him with a needle for the past week. I took 45 minutes (precious time in the nusing world) to let him know I appreciated his fears. That's all he needed. He wasn't even my patient today, but he needed the therapy, and I'm pretty good at starting IV's.
Mr. C has been with me for awhile. I took care of him on the surgical floor when he was first diagnosed with rectal cancer that had metastisized to his liver and kidneys. He was a mean SOB (SOB in the usual sense, not medical lingo). Yelled at nurses, threw things and was just plain nasty. The nurses would draw straws to see who had to take care of him that night. He was in pain, physically and mentally. While he was in the hospital, his wife filed for divorce, this made him even more angry. Angry at his wife, the nurses, the doctors, the cancer. We moved him down to the Exended Care Center, and I would occasionally see him in the hallways in his wheelchair.
"Hey Angela, my wife is leaving me."
"I'm sorry to hear that Mr. C. You look good today, your color has much improved. It's nice to see you out and about in the hallways."
Now that I am working in the Extended Care Center, I see him daily. At first we exchanged pleasantries in the halway. He was actually pleasant. Sure, he still had his owly moments, but by and large, he was polite which was a huge improvement. Over the past week, we have begun talking. He has heard about my life in Alpena, and how I am excited to get to go home for an extended period this week. I have heard about his outing with his (now) ex-wife and how they are trying to be friends. He told me a story about hs college days, and how he got his nickname of "Beacon" Nice story, but not relevent to this tale I am telling. It's his story, you find him and ask him yourself. Yesterday he got some news on his prognosis and it isn't good. 1 in 5 chance that he will survive.
"I don't feel like I am dying," he told me.
I told him 2 things that my Mumma Dear told me;
1.) "No one put an expiration date on your foot, no one can tell you when my time is up." and
2.) "You can be dying of cancer or you can be living with cancer. You choose."
He smiled at me and thanked me for giving him something to think about.
This is the PITA that threw a bedpan at me a few months back?
The other day we were talking about cheese. OK, I have no idea how we got on the topic of cheese, but he LOVES cheese, and I had just picked up this incredible cheddar with chives in it. I brought him in a slice. It made his day. Cheese? Who woulda thunk?
Today was a bad day for Mr. C. He didn't get out of bed. Didn't eat a thing. I kept peeking in the door at him, but he appeared to be sleeping so I didn't disturb him. After dinner tonight some people stopped in to see him and I asked him if he felt like company. He didn't, but got up anyhow to talk to them. He had obviously been crying all day. His eyes were swollen and he looked haggered. I told him I had been looking in on him all day (he wasn't my patient today either) and that I was concerned. I let him know he was in my thoughts. He squeezed my hand. I smiled. While he was talking to his company in another room, I found a picture on the internet of a dove and the words "Beacon of Hope" Hope is what he needed today. I printed it off and left it on his bed. He hadn't returned by the time I left for the day, and while I admit I went looking for him, I'm kinda glad I didn't find him. I hope he will see it and know I am thinking about him. I hope he will see it and know that "Beacon has hope" still. He needed a little hope today.
Nursing isn't all about starting IV's and transfering people and passing out medications. As a matter of fact, that is the least of my duties. I LOVE PITA's because when you can crack them, when you can make them see that someone cares, even when they think that no one in the world gves a rat's ass about them, that is the day that I go home, peel off my stinking scrubs, grab an ibuprofen or 4 for my aches and pains, slip into a bubble bath to wash away the stench and soreness and I smile, knowing that I made a difference. PITA's give me purpose.
My Feet ache.
My calves are burning.
My back is tight.
I have a headace.
Also, I smell something feirce. Now I don't mean my nose detects a strange odor. I mean I am exuding a funky smell; the smell of too many hospital odors.
It's been a tough 6 days. 12 hours shifts, on my feet. Running, running, running. I love being a nurse, but by day 6, all you can think is "There's no place like... anywhere but here!"
PITA's - Not the yummy frizbee like bread things that transfer hummus into my wattering mouth. Hospital PITA's.
Hospitals are places full of acronyms...
CVA = Cerebral Vascular Accident
TIA = Transient Ischemic Attack
SOB = Short of Breath (replaced now by DOE = Dyspnic on Exerction, as many patients didn't like being called a SOB)
TKA = Total Knee Arthroplasty
Then there are the ones that are UN-official
FOS = Full of Shit or in polite terms, constipated
GOMER = Get Out Of My Emergency Room, hurrying a patient out or transfering them to another facility so they are someone elses problem
CTD = Circling The Drain
TOTL = To Old To Live
PITA = Pain In The Ass
I LOVE PITA's. Yep, some days they get ya down, but when you can crack one, there is nothing like the feeling of making that connection. Today was a day full of PITA's. I'm tired, cranky, sore and looking forward to a long stretch off. I started my day dreading the PITA's, but ended up driving home with a smile on my face thinking about them.
Mr A, Mr B ad Mr C are all Vietnam Era Vets. I love working at the Vetran's hospital. I like working with men. Don't get me wrong, women can be ok, I even have some friends that are women, but by and large, they are some of the most whiney, needy patients on the planet. "Can I have a box of Tissues, oh, and a blanket, and a pain pill, and would you turn my light out, and would you move my TV closer, and can I have a snack and..." But never all at once. Nope, this list of requests (all reasonable, I admit) comes with 5 different trips down that long hallway in response to that blinking light outside the door. Men, now, they will put on the light, and when you ask over the speaker what they need, they will tell you, "Oh, I'm bleeding a lot. When you get a minute could you come check it out?" I love men as patients!
OK, back To Mr A. He had a CVA post CABG (which we call cabbage) CVA post CABG = Cerebral Vascular Accident (Stroke) post Coranary Artery Bypass Graft (heart bypass). He has given up. Doesn't try, is very depressed and is on the call light for every little thing. When you see that you have Mr A as your patient, you give a big sigh. He's just a lot of work, and a lot of heavy work. He can't move himself, so we have to use a lift system (imagine a crane hooked into the ceiling used to move people about), and he wants to get up and go back to bed every 30 minutes. It gets exhausting. Did I tell you he had given up? Oh yeah, wouldn't do anything for himself. Well today, we got him up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down, and I was tired. Got him into his wheelchair for the 4th time in 3 hours (literally) and I gave him a little pep talk. Told him he could decide if he was going to work in therapy to get stronger and do things for himself, or he could let everyone do everything for him forever and never be any dfferent than he is today. Simple words, some may think it was kinda harsh, but ya know what... He stayed in his chair for 3 hours, went outside to enjoy the sunny day for the frst time in 4 weeks, and went back to bed with a smile on his face and actually said thank you. Those little things mean the world to a nurse. We don't want or need flowers or candy; just tell us you appreciate what we have done, and try to make yourself better. That makes us smile.
Mr. B is afraid of needles, so much so that he has refused to take his insulin for the past 3 years and he has all kinds of major problems due to high blood sugar levels, including a horrible infection in his shoulder that could take his life. Imagine a 250# strapping ex-marine who stared down danger on a daily basis in the jungles of Viet Nam. He looked at death and risked his life day after day and was willing to face it again, just for fear of a needle. This infection must be treated with IV antibiotics, but IV's mean needles, and he can't make himself do it. I went in and talked to him, let him voice his concerns and discussed the pros and cons of IV therapy as well as the concequences he may face if he did not undergo IV therapy. He laid in his bed, shaking as I prepared the IV supplies. I talked to him, reassured him, talked him through the entire procedure and before you know it, the IV was in, he was getting the medication he needed and he actually smiled. None of the other nurses on the floor could beleive I had talked him into it. He had hollered, kicked, yelled and swore at anyone who came near him with a needle for the past week. I took 45 minutes (precious time in the nusing world) to let him know I appreciated his fears. That's all he needed. He wasn't even my patient today, but he needed the therapy, and I'm pretty good at starting IV's.
Mr. C has been with me for awhile. I took care of him on the surgical floor when he was first diagnosed with rectal cancer that had metastisized to his liver and kidneys. He was a mean SOB (SOB in the usual sense, not medical lingo). Yelled at nurses, threw things and was just plain nasty. The nurses would draw straws to see who had to take care of him that night. He was in pain, physically and mentally. While he was in the hospital, his wife filed for divorce, this made him even more angry. Angry at his wife, the nurses, the doctors, the cancer. We moved him down to the Exended Care Center, and I would occasionally see him in the hallways in his wheelchair.
"Hey Angela, my wife is leaving me."
"I'm sorry to hear that Mr. C. You look good today, your color has much improved. It's nice to see you out and about in the hallways."
Now that I am working in the Extended Care Center, I see him daily. At first we exchanged pleasantries in the halway. He was actually pleasant. Sure, he still had his owly moments, but by and large, he was polite which was a huge improvement. Over the past week, we have begun talking. He has heard about my life in Alpena, and how I am excited to get to go home for an extended period this week. I have heard about his outing with his (now) ex-wife and how they are trying to be friends. He told me a story about hs college days, and how he got his nickname of "Beacon" Nice story, but not relevent to this tale I am telling. It's his story, you find him and ask him yourself. Yesterday he got some news on his prognosis and it isn't good. 1 in 5 chance that he will survive.
"I don't feel like I am dying," he told me.
I told him 2 things that my Mumma Dear told me;
1.) "No one put an expiration date on your foot, no one can tell you when my time is up." and
2.) "You can be dying of cancer or you can be living with cancer. You choose."
He smiled at me and thanked me for giving him something to think about.
This is the PITA that threw a bedpan at me a few months back?
The other day we were talking about cheese. OK, I have no idea how we got on the topic of cheese, but he LOVES cheese, and I had just picked up this incredible cheddar with chives in it. I brought him in a slice. It made his day. Cheese? Who woulda thunk?
Today was a bad day for Mr. C. He didn't get out of bed. Didn't eat a thing. I kept peeking in the door at him, but he appeared to be sleeping so I didn't disturb him. After dinner tonight some people stopped in to see him and I asked him if he felt like company. He didn't, but got up anyhow to talk to them. He had obviously been crying all day. His eyes were swollen and he looked haggered. I told him I had been looking in on him all day (he wasn't my patient today either) and that I was concerned. I let him know he was in my thoughts. He squeezed my hand. I smiled. While he was talking to his company in another room, I found a picture on the internet of a dove and the words "Beacon of Hope" Hope is what he needed today. I printed it off and left it on his bed. He hadn't returned by the time I left for the day, and while I admit I went looking for him, I'm kinda glad I didn't find him. I hope he will see it and know I am thinking about him. I hope he will see it and know that "Beacon has hope" still. He needed a little hope today.
Nursing isn't all about starting IV's and transfering people and passing out medications. As a matter of fact, that is the least of my duties. I LOVE PITA's because when you can crack them, when you can make them see that someone cares, even when they think that no one in the world gves a rat's ass about them, that is the day that I go home, peel off my stinking scrubs, grab an ibuprofen or 4 for my aches and pains, slip into a bubble bath to wash away the stench and soreness and I smile, knowing that I made a difference. PITA's give me purpose.
posted by Angela | 22:16
1 Comments:
Right on.
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