So last night was pretty hellish. Like, every single one of my patients were crazy escape artists who ran me ragged or were sick as all get out or all of the above. For example: my little demented nursing home lady with altered mental status (new? chronic? who really knows...not the nursing home, that's for sure) who was very pleasantly confused. She would answer questions about medical history with, "oh no sweetie, I just like carrots," and reply to inquiries about her pain level with, "that's nice, a large hat." Because she had all the medical problems ever, her Hgb was 6.4 and Hct was 21 and urine looked like cottage cheese and lungs sounded awful. Hello, blood transfusion and foley and antibiotics, because she was also a full code and do everything per family. I get the catheter in, two IV lines placed, blood transfusion going, antibiotics infusing, pillows fluffed, sheets tucked in, curtain pulled open, and monitor wires neatly hidden. She smiles at me and closes her eyes for a little nap.
Not even six minutes later and I'm standing in the next room doing another workup, when the monitor alarm goes off. I head back into the room, and I swear to you it's like gremlins came in and tore the place apart and then disappeared back into the great beyond. The pillow was on the other side of the room. The monitor wires are dangling from the screen. The foley is laying next to her on the bed. Both IV lines have been pulled out and the blood is infusing onto the tile floor, the antibiotic into the blanket which is on the chair. It was fucking armageddon in there. And the craziest part? Lady looks like she hasn't moved one bit. She is still laying in the same position as when I left, eyes serenely closed. I am still flabbergasted how that whole disaster happened.
I also had a big burly psych patient attempt to escape. He almost made it because I'm like 5 foot 3, and he was Ray Lewis. He also probably almost made it because there aren't actually any real psych rooms in this ER and it's a pretty short distance from the rooms to the exit. I wish I'd had a haldol blowdart gun, because we (and by "we" I mean Sa-curity) pretty much had to then sit on him (literally) to IM med his ass until we could drag him back into bed.
And oh yeah, there was the lady who came in for "insomnia" and then complained to me that she didn't want to sleep on the stretcher because "those beds are uncomfortable." You know what would have been more comfortable? Your bed at home. And also, probably don't drink a red bull at 01:30. You make me wish call bells had never been invented.
All I'm saying is...I might have had two extra large glasses of sangria this morning when I got home. And made the most banging egg breakfast ever, because nothing says "de-stress" like heartburn.
Nighty night, yall'z.