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poop beetle: nursing school stuff- last clinical of the semester
4.2004
We finished clinicals for this semester, in school. (that's the part where you go in to the hospital and practice on real people). The class and lab part will continue and then summer session will start. This summer we'll be working in the VA hospital- psychiatric (fun!) and then another hospital for pediatric (not fun).
Some in my class are real into pediatrics- that's their dream and all. A life's work spent alternately calming and torturing terrified children-not for me.
I watched some of Condoleeza Rice's testimony with my last patient yesterday. She was so cool (the patient). She was an elderly black woman who wore a blond wig. I spent two days with her- and upon first meeting her, the wig looked strange. (And I feared I'd spend the next two days staring at it.)
But then 15 seconds later, it didn't look weird, anymore. It suited her. Some people got it like that.
"They're not going to let her say anything", my patient said, nodding at the TV.
"no," I said.
And we watched for a bit- long enough for me to feel sad and tired and then stop listening- at least to her words. I listened to the tremble in her voice and looked at her face. You know Condi is 50 years old? Doesn't she look fantastic? Such a cute woman. I don't actually want to know what she did or knew or when. I don't want to dislike her- much easier to focus on the snarky white guys.
At the end of the second day as I was about to leave, I found out my patient had been a nurse herself for 50 years.
I've witnessed that before in clinical settings- nurses taking care of nurses. (the patient directs you to a "good" vein or says something like I'm a little "tachy" today- (short for "tachycardiac")- stuff like that should be a hint.
I'd thought my patient was just an old lady who was real up on her multiple conditions.
When I found out, I was relieved to have made her sit up that morning so I could listen to her lung sounds.
I hate waking people up- I hate being woken up- both are things I'll have to get over.
If I could have gotten away with it, I'd have at least let her continue to lie down while I poked and prodded- Assessed. That's what you start with at 7:00am. A stranger busts into your room, flips on the light, makes you sit up and then sticks a freezing cold stethoscope under your gown- asking how you slept (the answer is usually, "fine, till they woke me up at 4am to get blood").
Sweet and nurturing- but also competent and bullying- and NOT spacy and dithery- I've got a little more than three more semesters to go- but I'm getting there.
I got to remove her I.V.
When I say I "got" to- it's because the whole point of this stuff is to actually do the things you've read about and practiced on the life-sized anatomically correct medical dummies in the lab.
I've got a whole post to write about those medical dummies- they are hilarious. Medical equipment in general is really nuts- who, who invents, designs this stuff?
I.V. practice involves disembodied life sized rubber arms- with pornographically swollen looking veins- riddled with lots of little ratty looking holes- the work of years of overenthusiastic/frustrated students.
There's something about these rubber and plastic dummies that does make you want to stick them with needles- jab them- don't ask me why- I'm not the only one. Perfectly normal, perfectly healthy- all in good fun. Although, when I was told I would need to remove Mrs. X's I.V. - I did have a moment of panic- and regretted spending so much lab time going "Rrrarrr! I'm a big rubber arm! Ha! Ha! Ha!"
I.V.s- scary, scary- tubes, needles, special complicated ratio/conversion math, machines that make awful bleeping sounds- I froze for a second.
My instructor says- "so, what do you need to gather?"
"Gauze?" I ask.
"Or a Band-Aid" she says.
"and . . .?" I'm stalling and can not think- no idea.
"Tape if you can't find a bandaid" She prompts.
"And that's it?"
"yep".
And that was it- you just take the thing out. It's as if you had something sticking in something and you didn't want it in there any more and so you would take your own two hands and remove it.
Only in this case you'd wear gloves and have someone to supervise you and you'd stick like 4 pieces of gauze over it and have 10 more pieces at hand, just in case and plenty of tape- just because it still seems like a big deal and if there's nothing else to be done for it- well a little more gauze never hurts + there is never, ever a band aid to be found in a hospital- at least not that I've seen- a Dr. with a paper cut was moaning "I've got an owie! I'm bleeding! Please, bandaid? Anyone?"- And no. There was not.
My patient suggested turning on the overhead light so I could see better. Another hint- but I still didn't pick up on it.
The way I finally found out- I went to check on her one last time and she asked me if I had my scissors with me. (I'd forgotten them while performing my previous procedure- which was unfortunate, because it made the wad of gauze and tape on her forearm look all that much messier, with the raggedy torn tape all around it).
I did have them this time- and she asked me if I'd cut a toenail that was bugging her.
She had pretty feet- that's part of the assessment stuff- you get a lot of information from someone's feet.
And her's looked good and all, but besides the many, many other problems she had, she was a diabetic- and alarms sounded in my head (which was somewhat comforting to me- allowing me to know, yes, I am learning something).
Never, ever, ever mix sharp objects and the feet of diabetics.
And so I told her so- "sorry, can't do it."
And she sighed and said "I know, I was a nurse for 50 years".
And I laughed and she did too.
And we talked about nursing and being the mother to sons and diabetes and her feet which were both very healthy looking and pretty and according to her, always one of her best features.
Condi Rice was still testifying.
I told this story, later to some of my classmates and one of them went "Ohhh, she was testing you!".
But, I don't believe so- I think that toenail was just really bugging her.
