kapachino

Tag: nursing

  • How About A Little Discretion

    I’ve been putting in some half-days at the cancer center where I worked for two years before starting nursing school. Sometimes, funny things happen there.

    For example:

    A patient had an HIV blood test ordered, among other things, and when he went to the lab to get it done, one of our lab techs (a spacey woman who lacks common sense sometimes) called out down the hall to the other tech loud enough for anyone around to hear, “I need an HIV test run on that one!” The patient was understandably upset, and complained to his doctor.

    The doctor came into the exam area and started telling us about it. He said, “You just don’t do that kind of thing! That’s like me yelling out at the hospital, ‘I need an extra small condom catheter over here!’”

  • In Which I Discuss School and Give You Something Funny To Read

    Last night I had a dream in which I was having a conversation, in Spanish no less, with a hybrid of a puppy and a goat. In the same dream I was also applying to graduate school. I personally think that if I am able to have a Spanish conversation with a puppygoat then I should be able to get into grad school.

    I am not sure exactly what this dream means, but I tend to lean towards the interpretation that it shows how I am losing my mind due to school. If I ever go a few days without posting, it is a safe bet that I am overwhelmed with schoolwork. I was so happy this morning after the test I took because it was actually easy. But a few minutes later I was reminded that I have a large research paper due in two weeks (on the same day as a test in another class), not to mention the 20-page care plans that we are required to do weekly.

    Sigh.

    But let’s not be negative! I know no one wants to read about my academic woes (and by the way, I really like the word “woe!”), so let’s end on a more upbeat subject! I am compelled to share this snippet that I read in The New Yorker today, because it made me laugh out loud!

    “A Conversation at the Grownup Table, As Imagined by the Kids’ Table”

    MOM: Pass the wine, please. I want to become crazy.
    DAD: O.K.
    GRANDMOTHER: Did you see the politics? It made me angry.
    DAD: Me, too. When it was over, I had sex.
    UNCLE: I’m having sex right now.
    DAD: We all are.
    MOM: Let’s talk about which kid I like the best.
    DAD: (laughing) You know, but you won’t tell.
    MOM: If they ask me again, I might tell.
    FRIEND FROM WORK: Hey, guess what! My voice is pretty loud!
    DAD: (laughing) There are actual monsters in the world, but when my kids ask I pretend like there aren’t.
    MOM: I’m angry! I’m angry all of a sudden!
    DAD: I’m angry, too! We’re angry at each other!
    MOM: Now everything is fine.
    DAD: We just saw the PG-13 movie. It was so good.
    MOM: There was a big sex.
    FRIEND FROM WORK: I am the loudest! I am the loudest!
    (Everybody laughs.)
    MOM: I had a lot of wine, and now I’m crazy!
    GRANDFATHER: Hey, do you guys know what God looks like?
    ALL: Yes.
    GRANDFATHER: Don’t tell the kids.

  • What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up?

    Whenever I get to talking about school with anyone, one of the first questions they ask me is, “What kind of nurse do you want to be?” So I just want to go on record here and say that as of right now, the answer is “I don’t know.” But I can tell you that I have had some experiences lately that have me leaning in a way I never thought I would.

    Last week I had a patient who was 84 years old, hospitalized for a severe urinary tract infection that got into her blood. She was very confused and helpless. She could hardly do anything for herself. She was wearing diapers because she could no longer control her urination or bowel movements. She also had two pressure ulcers (bedsores) on her middle and lower back. That day, during her bed bath, the nurse’s assistant called me and my preceptor in to evaluate her sores because while they were cleaning her she had begun to have a soft bowel movement and it had soiled the dressing. When we entered the room there she was, lying on the bed, naked, scared, confused, and embarrassed. She wasn’t much of a talker, but she kept looking at her daughter (who was there with her) and at us with a pleading look in her eyes, saying things like, “What am I gonna do? Are they going to kill me?” My heart broke for her, and I can tell you that it was one of the most satisfying experiences I have had yet just to clean her up and get her settled comfortably in her bed.

    That day my preceptor, Kay, told me a similar story. She had an elderly patient who had had an aneurysm in her brain which had been operated on. Unfortunately, she had progressed to the point where she was no longer responding to anyone around her – not quite in a coma, but almost. During the operation they had shaved half of her head and a portion on the other side, so that she had a tuft of long hair coming out that was matted and crusted. Evidently no one had washed it for awhile, because the short hair had already grown out some. Kay decided that she was going to wash it and brush it. Then while she was doing this, she got the idea to cut it. She cut it into that kind of cute and spiky look that you see some grandmas wearing. During the whole process she sang Christian songs to her, and she noticed that when she sang, her patient’s eyes focused directly on her, a sign of awareness that hadn’t been shown since the operation.

    Experiences and stories like this are what is making me think that I may want to be a geriatrics or hospice nurse. We all grow old, and we all die, and it usually isn’t pretty. It happens all the time, but it’s a new experience for every person when they go through it. This is a time of great need for those people, and they are frequently overlooked.

    Nursing school is hard, and it has really been stressing me out lately. This is my spring break, but I have more schoolwork to do than I can handle, almost. But I am not doubting my chosen profession for a minute. It’s a wonderful feeling to know that you’ve found what you want to do with your life, and you are doing it.

  • The Consequences of Being a Nursing Student

    I just wanted to keep you all up-to-date on my ongoing toenail saga that began way back in November. For those that are just tuning in, the week of Thanksgiving I was playing in an outdoor soccer game and my right toe encountered some kind of trauma that caused blood to pool up and dry underneath half of the toenail. This was painful for a day, but then it was just unsightly. It promised to be unsightly for another 6-8 months as well, until the toenail grew out.

    Then I was so proud of myself when I got a nice pedicure that successfully covered up nearly all traces of the blot. You can’t even tell! Well, anyway, things were going great like this until last night when I began, alas, another outdoor soccer season. It’s not the soccer itself that does a number on my toes, because I’ve been playing indoor these past few months with no problems. It’s those dang cleats that seem to get me.

    I noticed last night during the game that my toe was beginning to hurt again, and by the end of the game it was nearly throbbing. Sure enough, when I took off my shoe there was blood on my sock. When I took off my sock I found that the nail had cracked near the bottom of the nailbed and blood was oozing out from underneath.

    It’s tough to see here, but the crack is along the bottom. I am confident that someday soon the entire nail will fall off, and when that day comes I will be sure to share with you all of the lovely details. Until then, I am constantly popping ibuprofen to keep away the throbbing pain that such a tiny imperfection gives me. I am also trying to keep myself from developing a phobia of all the ways I could die from this, including infection, septic shock, and gangrene, not to mention amputation. It’s unfortunate that along with learning about how my body works I learn how it can go wrong in a million different ways, because of course every sign and symptom that I discover in myself is now a death sentence.