"We have lost a living link to an important era in our nation's history" - Eric Shinseki, Veteran Affairs Secretary.
Thank you, Frank Buckles, for your service.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Technicalities
A little bit of backstory: We have quite a few foreign exchange nurses working in our hospital. Most are either Pacific Islander or Indian, and a few from other scattered places. All speak English well, usually in addition to two or three other languages. Having just taken a Spanish for Nursing class, and still feeling Spanishly Dumb, I really, really wish I was bilingual. I've got the greatest respect for those who can hold multiple languages in their head and not have it leak out of their ears. That being said, there are occasionally some language snafus which we all get a giggle out of.
Such as tonight.
One of the exchange nurses went into the patient room to check a pulse ox. He was placing the pulse ox finger thingy on the patient, while explaining what he was doing. "I'm just going to check your pulse ox, to see if you're SOB."
The patient looks at him all bewildered like, and goes, "I mean I'm having a little trouble breathing, but I'm not a son of a bitch!"
The poor nurse came back out and was just as bewildered as the patient...until we all busted out laughing and explained the idiom that is "You SOB!!"
Lesson learned. And after the lesson was over, the nurse did smile too. Because let's face it...that junk is funny. Political correctness be damned.
Such as tonight.
One of the exchange nurses went into the patient room to check a pulse ox. He was placing the pulse ox finger thingy on the patient, while explaining what he was doing. "I'm just going to check your pulse ox, to see if you're SOB."
The patient looks at him all bewildered like, and goes, "I mean I'm having a little trouble breathing, but I'm not a son of a bitch!"
The poor nurse came back out and was just as bewildered as the patient...until we all busted out laughing and explained the idiom that is "You SOB!!"
Lesson learned. And after the lesson was over, the nurse did smile too. Because let's face it...that junk is funny. Political correctness be damned.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Overkill, overdose
We do med reconciliation in the ER on every single patient. I ask them what prescription meds and/or OTC meds they take, they tell me, and I enter them in the computer. Sometimes they give me a list, sometimes they hand me a bag with 6 or 7 med bottles. With nursing home patients you know you're going to spend 15 minutes searching through the chart and then entering 23 meds, but at least they are on two or three pages and usually in alphabetical order.
And then sometimes you get a patient that defies all expectations.
Like the patient whom EMS dropped off with a suitcase of meds.
A suitcase. There were ONE HUNDRED AND NINETEEN pill bottles in the case. I know, because I counted them. And read them. And entered them in the computer. Every single one.
Face palm.
And then sometimes you get a patient that defies all expectations.
Like the patient whom EMS dropped off with a suitcase of meds.
A suitcase. There were ONE HUNDRED AND NINETEEN pill bottles in the case. I know, because I counted them. And read them. And entered them in the computer. Every single one.
Face palm.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
America...the States
I really enjoy when people forget that an actor might have had a role in TV long before one popular show. Thusly, please enjoy Hugh Laurie and his magical musical skillz.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
I am not a Belieber.
Hey Justin Beiber. I'm watching you right now on the Grammys. How are you popular?! You're twelve and singing baby baby baby baby baby baby baby oh yeah baby baby baby. I could have sworn I had never listened to you before, but then I remembered that you were on the TV in the background at a New Year's Eve party I went to once, and then I also remembered thinking "man, this kid is awful."
I can't take this.
Jeff Lang, please come back to America so I can hear actual live music.
I can't take this.
Jeff Lang, please come back to America so I can hear actual live music.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
This little piggy
The first 15 minutes of a shift will make or break you. It will decide what kind of night you're going to have; whether it will be a pleasantly steady and mind-stimulating set of patients, or a bat out of hell don't sit down for 9 hours insanely busy crammed influx of the entire population, or a just face the music you'll-probably-have-actual-shit-on-you at some point kind of night.
Tonight, my friends, was a have actual shit-on-me kind of night. And I knew it would be bad from the start.
I walked onto the floor and the previous nurse had just dispo'ed all of my rooms. Empty group + 4 hour wait time = bend over and take it now. I'm trying to help clean out the trauma room of the stuff enviro won't touch, like saline bags and extra blood tubes and suture kits. There was a large tray, obviously from central, of all sorts of clamps and scissors and such. We send those back down to be sterilized, but always they have to be looked over to make sure nothing of the sharp and pointy variety is forgotten. It's a no needle left behind policy.
So I'm pulling a few spare pieces of gauze off the tray, and eyeing it up to make sure there are no sharps, when I spot...a...what the feck? Is that? Is THAT wha---?
Holy shit on a stick, batman.
It was a severed finger. Just hanging out. Next to the kelly clamp. A severed finger. In all its number one glory.
I don't know what the hell happened in that room before I got there, but I'm glad I wasn't present for it. Ugh. Can you imagine if I sent that down to central processing?! I can only dream of the conniption fit that would be thrown.
So my friends, in case you are wondering, this is not a good way to start the shift. Finding spare body parts will guarantee an actual shit-on-you kind of night.
And it was...
Tonight, my friends, was a have actual shit-on-me kind of night. And I knew it would be bad from the start.
I walked onto the floor and the previous nurse had just dispo'ed all of my rooms. Empty group + 4 hour wait time = bend over and take it now. I'm trying to help clean out the trauma room of the stuff enviro won't touch, like saline bags and extra blood tubes and suture kits. There was a large tray, obviously from central, of all sorts of clamps and scissors and such. We send those back down to be sterilized, but always they have to be looked over to make sure nothing of the sharp and pointy variety is forgotten. It's a no needle left behind policy.
So I'm pulling a few spare pieces of gauze off the tray, and eyeing it up to make sure there are no sharps, when I spot...a...what the feck? Is that? Is THAT wha---?
Holy shit on a stick, batman.
It was a severed finger. Just hanging out. Next to the kelly clamp. A severed finger. In all its number one glory.
I don't know what the hell happened in that room before I got there, but I'm glad I wasn't present for it. Ugh. Can you imagine if I sent that down to central processing?! I can only dream of the conniption fit that would be thrown.
So my friends, in case you are wondering, this is not a good way to start the shift. Finding spare body parts will guarantee an actual shit-on-you kind of night.
And it was...
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
The issue is pronunciation
So this city won't name stuff after a Mayor from years ago. Why? His name was Harry Baals.
They're afraid people will snicker.
They're right.
'The issue is pronunciation. The former mayor pronounced his last name "balls."'
I'm thirteen years old.
I also have nothing of interest to add regarding nursing. Womp womp.
They're afraid people will snicker.
They're right.
'The issue is pronunciation. The former mayor pronounced his last name "balls."'
I'm thirteen years old.
I also have nothing of interest to add regarding nursing. Womp womp.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
