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| Articles: How not to take things personally, A.K.A. being a nurse |
Posted by
teddiliza on Sunday, January 11, 2004 - 04:54 AM PST
Somebody told me a joke the other day,
"A body was found in an alleyway and the police were sent to investigate. There was no I.D. no witnesses, no hope for finding out the victims name. Perplexed, the police were flabbergasted when the coroner arrived and pronounce the profession of the victim. "That's easy," the coroner laughed. Think about it. Iron stomache, Her bladder is full and 3x the normal size, her hands are red and chapped, clean fingernails, there's varicose veins on her legs, burn holes and blisters on her feet, and her butt's been chewed on all day." The chief policeman smacked himself on his forehead with the heel of his palm and replied with chagrin, "You're damn right, she's a nurse".
Let me explain why these clues were significant in solving the victim's identity:
Iron stomach: Blood and body fluids, need I say more?
Full bladder:
Over the course of a few years the nurse, who rarely has time to even take a leak, has learned that it is more important to help your patients to the bathroom before yourself. Not because of a desire to be selfless and self-abused, necessarily, but because if you don't prioritize the needs of others, you will be considered a bitch, and will end up changing a wet bed. It must be included that night shift nurses are highly coffee dependent, and coffee, of course, has the unfortunate side effect of creating a full bladder due to it's diuretic properties. Professionals in the field have recommended that all nurses should have indwelling urinary catheters placed to avoid bladder discomfort, however, one must note you'd still have to take time to empty the bag, and patients report that catheters make promenading sincerely unjoyful.
Chapped hands and clean fingernails:
From washing your hands approximately every 10 minutes during your 8 hour shift (approximately 48x) and the avoidance of hand lotion which just feels nastily slimy under rubber gloves while you sweat from exertion. Or sweat as you try to start an IV or draw blood in front of a crowd of 10 or so friends and family members watching you torture a loved one with a small needle. (That in itself is a motive for murder)
Blisters, burn holes, varicose veins:
High patient loads were designed and insured to guarantee that a nurse will be on their feet (a.k.a. work standing up) for 8-12 hours at a time. Only smoking nurses are allowed breaks, and the rest of us hope we have the time to drink a slimfast for our dinner, as we sit down for a full 5 minutes of our 8 hour shift, fearing that our sore backs and arthritic knees with affix us to the chair if we dally any longer. The rule in the hospital is "Don't walk, RUN!"- leading to burnt feet and blisters DR SO AND SO IS HERE! STOP THE BEEPING! I'M BLEEDING/CAN'T BREATHE! GET ME TO THE BATHROOM HURRY! PHONE CALL! PATIENT IS VOMITING (family members assume you are better at holding an emesis bucket than they are- what we really need to know is "Nurse, the patient is nauseated, could you by chance obtain an antiemetic so that we may avoid an incident" (hoping the doctor was nice enough to order one). Most hospitals use tile floors because it is easier to clean, doesn't burn as easily, and furniture rolls better. Unfortunately, this adds to the varicose vein problem. If you think pantyhose were invented for torture, you haven't met support hose yet!
Chewed butt:
This comes from everyone, the doctors, the patients, the families, the coworkers. Usually it's because they don't think you are moving fast enough to suit them (all), you call them too many times (doctors- if only they'd write legibly), they've been waiting too long for a box of kleenex while you did CPR next door - or worse, they've been waiting for pain medicine and you had to page the doctor to get an order (who bitched at you for calling them) fax the order to pharmacy (who bitched at you because they need the patient's height, weight and allergies) get bitched at by the family for taking too long while you wait for pharmacy to send you the medicine, get bitched at by the patient because they didn't like the pain medicine the doctor ordered, and then get bitched at by your coworkers who are waiting for your report/or for you to answer the phone call/or to help Dr. So and So, and where's that box of kleenex? Being a real life nurse I can honestly say that ALL these things have happened to me!
Now, the poor victim, the nurse, was actually either a victim of drop dead exhaustion or suicide. She'd been worked too hard and just dropped dead, or perhaps she felt unloved and unappreciated and disillusioned from her ideal of caring for others turned to "mistress of pain and suffering". Now after all this, why would I still want to be a nurse? Well, because those poor people who are having a hell of a worse day because they have tubes sticking out of them and they just found out they had cancer, and are in much pain, need me. Nurses by nature are self-abusing because they will bust their ass to try and help someone else because they care. All it takes are the few times when I get a thank you, or when a patient who has recovered comes back to visit, or the times when I personally have prevented a major break down in a patient's condition because I know what I'm doing. Lastly, it's because I'm doing the work God intended for me to do, and I pledged myself to it long ago. But I tell you, this job makes you appreciate the little things in life, like taking a leak, sitting down for a long dinner, being able to walk, breathing real air. It also toughens your skin so you don't take things personally!
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| How not to take things personally, A.K.A. being a nurse | Login/Create an account | 11 Comments |
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Re: How not to take things personally, A.K.A. being a nurse
by bettie_x (strangersangel@hotmail.com)
on Jan 11, 2004 - 10:32 AM
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My mom has been a nurse for 30 or so years and I totally understand how it is. I practically grew up in the Enumclaw Memorial Hospital, I was there so much, either from jacking myself up doing god knows what or because I'd go to work with my mom in the early early mornings and sleep or play or help her with paperwork until it was time to drive me to school. I also spend a good amount of time in the hospital NOW due to a husband who's better at fucking himself up more than I do, and because of his magical collapsing lung.
Out of the four times he's been in to the ER, I've gone home pissed off three of them. I understand the plight of the nurse, don't get me wrong, but holy fucking hell. The first time was a week long battle with nurses over my husband's diet, when he needed to use the can PLEASE don't send the 65 year old 5' woman to haul a 6'2" man with a chest tube out of bed, managing his pain (which was horrible, I heard several times "oh a chest tube can't be hurting THAT BAD...) and getting outright called "potheads" the night we checked in. "Well I need you to tell me, because I can smell pot smoke and it'll affect his pain management." not "If you use rec drugs please let us know so we can adjust his pain meds, it's important."
I fought with those bitches all night, and all the next day, and then FINALLY either it was them fed up with ME or my mom down in the ER saying something when I broke down on her when I was searching for coffee, but we got a fabulous lady with a kind of moustache and frizzy dyed red hair and an iguana sock over her stethescope who obviously loved her job, was quick, efficient, cheerful, and a little crazy. I loved her.
Then his cat mauled his hand during a seizure, and a technician kept jamming the needle into his wrist bone and flexing it like he was going "go fish" in the arm of a man with the biggest veins EVER. He had a bruise and a lump for a month.
And lastly, he went in thinking his lung collapsed again, and after a battery of tests (one of which came back wrong and said 0 on something important, and I could hear them talking "0 huh? Is he dead? Go ask the guy in 5 if he's dead. For the rest of the night he was "the dead guy in 5"...kinda hillarious, but not at 3am). They left us sitting in there for TWO HOURS without any info on anything, and then finally came back and said "you're fine, go home" and when I asked what he could do to prevent future chest wall pain they said "nothing, you just get to live with it".
I understand the stresses and the pressure, and all it takes to redeem a place is a few good nurses who love their job, but good freaking hell, some of the ones I've had to deal with are enough to make me give up conventional medicine and haul his ass to my nice and friendly local witchdoctor from now on. Oh, and for anyone who wants a REALLY REALLY good doctor and nurses, go to welfare clinics. Those people know what they're fucking doing, I swear.
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Re: How not to take things personally, A.K.A. being a nurse
by Xaoswolf (Xaoswolfatvzavenuedotnet)
on Jan 12, 2004 - 09:37 PM
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Since Bettie already started the complaining, The one time I had to get stitches that I would be able to remember(firs time I was two) I must have gotten the fastest needle in the west.
I had gashed my knee open, and he decided to anesthetise me, clean it, and sew it back up.
He must have stabbed the needle into my knee like thirty times. During which time I complained.
Then he began the sewing, I told him that I could feel it, and that it hurt, a lot. He told me I couldn't, and moved more stuff around. I told him that I knew what I could feel, and that it hurt. Well, he finished sewing, ignoring my protestations, and sent me on my way.
As I walked out the door, my knee went numb as the anesthetic finally kicked in, and I almost fell over...
Other than him though, I've had nothing but good eperiences with nurses. Now doctors on the other hand...
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Re: Nurse or Teacher?
by Domkitten (saradevil@saradevil.com)
on Jan 13, 2004 - 03:42 AM
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Oddly, your dead unidentified person could easily be a teacher so I would not have jumped to the conclusion of nurse so quickly. Particularly those of us teaching in the far away land of ESL.
IN general however, we do have better hours than most nurses, only needing to put in between 8 and 10 hours a day. So that is certianly a saving grace.
But, Iron Stomach, you never have time to eat, or time for a lunch break because you are running around, talking to people, having meetings, talking to parents, or helping kids.
Since there are only about three to six teachers in the school you don't have time to leave your class to pee, so you need to hold it for about six to 8 hours.
Your hands end up being red from writing on the board, grading papers, peeling stickers, and handing out work, and the fingernails are clean because there are times when all you can do is clean your nails while the class breaks into a babysitting day care.
Your own your feet most of the time in front of the board, or playing games, jumping around, and becoming a make-shift gym teacher. You also have to chase after the children on occasion.
And, no matter how well you do your job, parents, other teachers, and the administration, never stop chewing your ass about how you could be a better, more productive, and friendly teacher. Constantly harping on how you could change things to make them better, without appreciating the fact that you might actually know what your doing.
Yeah, that could be a teacher lying out there, it would be my second guess...
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