Angry

You know what really, really chaps my ass? When you come to the ER at 9:30 pm, for a chronic pain issue which has "just been nagging at me for a while now," on the 911 cabulance, for the sixth time this month, IN THE MIDDLE OF A FRICKIN BLIZZARD, and you get pissed at me when I tell you the hospital can't provide you a way home.

But they gave me a cab voucher last time! Well in case you hadn't noticed, there are nine inches of icy white stuff on the ground. No cab runs in that.

But I only live half a mile from the hospital! Trust me, if I could throw you that far I would do it gladly.

But can't someone drive me home? Yes. Let me call the national guard, just for you. Or maybe I should abandon the rest of my patients and drive you there myself. Yes, that seems like a winning idea.

But can't I be admitted? For bullshit back pain? I'd like to see you try.

But I have to work in the morning! And....? I'm at work right now, so obviously I found a way to make it happen.

But what am I supposed to do...this is YOUR fault for not being able to get me home, I want to speak to your charge nurse and I'm going to write a letter to the CEO telling them how you're mistreating me and how you shouldn't be a nurse because you don't care about people.

One charge nurse coming right up, buddy. And security, and a goodbye wave from me while I document the hell out of this. Feel free to sit in the waiting room for 9 hours. And no, I won't get you a blanket or ginger ale. Because you know what? You're right. I don't care about your complaints. You are angry at me for not bending over backwards to make the impossible happen. But really, you shouldn't even be here. You have a non emergent complaint, and you wasted valuable resources by requiring that EMS pick you up.

And the saddest part? When you're angry because the charge nurse hasn't come to you soon enough, and when you're angry that EMS didn't give you enough blankets for the ride, and when you're angry that I'm not in your room every three minutes to give you the dilaudid you demanded...I'm angry too.

I'm angry that EMS was dropping you off and weren't closer to the cardiac arrest call they needed to bring in. I'm angry that you're wailing for the charge nurse when she is comforting the wife of the sweet man that dropped dead of the big one tonight. I'm angry that you suck down pain meds like they are candy, while nothing will fix the pain of the newly widowed woman's holiday season gone to hell. I'm angry that you think you can manipulate me by threatening, pleading, and insulting. I'm angry that I wasted time arguing with you when I could have been doing something, anything for the arrest patient's family.

And deep down, that makes me cringe. Because you're right - I don't care about you and your BS complaints. And maybe that is the saddest of all. Instead of feeling compassion for you, I feel nothing but anger.

Harmony

I had this big epic blog post all planned out about how badass I am, how cold Colorado is going to be, why I suck at holiday shopping, and how I was going to tie it all together with some witty snarks and a moral to wrap up the day.

And then I see Nurse K is back online.

So perhaps I'll try again tomorrow, and in the meantime you all can go forth and read up on why she is the shiznit.

Copy fail.

Iron and Wine's new EP is out, and it's pretty fantastic. But you know what, Sam Beam? Step offa Jeff Lang's toes! Music win, appearance fail.

Jeff Lang circa before I&W:

Sam Beam:

Same difference

Shrtstormtrooper: Do you take any blood thinners?

Sir: Yes, I take Cootiemen.

Shrtstormtrooper: I see.

Pure evil

Karma is a bitch, and my dentist is an evil evil man.

As I've made clear, I am not a fan of those who deal in teeth. I hate the dentist. I hate having my teeth worked on. I hate the little scrapey things and the suction and the noises and the feel of metal. Ugh. I really, really don't like it.

So there is a lot of anxiety every six months when I go for my cleaning. I sit on my hands so I don't accidentally punch someone. I make the squinty eyed face during all the scraping and mumble mrrruuuuggghh when they ask me questions. In general, I try to move as little as possible in hopes it will be over quicker.

And then today.

Dr. Dentist, who is actually a decent person, bounces into his chair and pokes around my mouth for a few minutes. He looks over at the xray, and gets real quiet. He calls over the hygenist. And then goes, "will you look at the size of that cavity?! Surgery, for sure..."

And then looks at me. I must have looked like he killed my puppy. I felt crushed, devastated. The end of the world. My vision was going dark. I could feel the tears rising.

Aaaaand then he laughs. Giggles, and goes "just kidding! All is well, see you in six months!"

I might have almost had an anxiety attack.

Looking back, this must be karma's way of getting back at me for all the cracks I've made about patients, and all the inappropriate things I've blogged about. It has to be.

But regardless, my dentist is an evil man.

Elvis has left the building

Elvis is dead, but he doesn't want you to be too. Read up on how an anesthesiologist dressed as The King resuscitated a fellow runner.

There are just too many jokes to be had with this one, so I'll refrain. I just hope she sends him a note saying thank you...thank you very much.

Well, I tried.

Unproductive

Seeing as I've resigned myself to having a completely unproductive day today, I have spent some time wandering the interwebs of youtube.

And here is what I found.

And it is good.



Maybe tomorrow I'll be productive...

Cleanup on Aisle 2

Standard protocol in our ER is for emergent patients like those with chest pains, SOBers, or those bleeding profusely to be brought back from triage by the nurse for RN to RN report. Non emergent patients can be brought back by a tech, and just a quick handoff report is given to the receiving primary RN.

So a non emergent patient was rolled back today, and the tech found the primary RN and lets her know that there is a rectal prolapse patient in the room. The other tech overhears and asks what a rectal prolapse is. Without missing a beat the triage tech goes, "Oh, her asshole fell out."

My last mental image before falling asleep this morning is going to be of environmental sweeping up an asshole into the garbage bin from off the floor. How fantastic.