Adventures in Nursing

Me: Knock knock.

Mrs. Jones:"Come in!"

Me: Knock knock knock.

Mrs. Jones: "Come in!"

Me (laughing quietly to myself): Knock knock knock knock knock.

Mrs. Jones (clearly annoyed at this point): "Well come in, already!"

The sound of the knocking is actually me pounding Mrs. Jones' 23 morning pills with a metal pill crusher just outside of her hospital room. She thinks I am her best friend Kathy from high school, here to help her plan a surprise party. Trust me, it took a long time for me to convince her that it is 2007, she is in the hospital, and I am her nurse.

"Mrs. Jones" is actually an 84-year-old woman who fell backwards into her bathtub, where she stayed upper body in, lower body out, for 3 days because she couldn't get up. Oh, and she's also crazy. Typical 84-year-old-pull-out-your-IV-rip-out-your-catheter-smear-poop-everywhere-and-swing-at-the-nurses-crazy. Just my kind of patient. The kind that makes you wish you could swing back when she claws your arm and slaps your face while you try to start a new IV to replace the one she just pulled out, but 5 minutes later has you laughing so hard you almost pee your pants because she told you that the Japanese had implanted some kind of alien machine in her vagina many years ago and matter-of-factly spreads her legs to show you and kindly asks if you can remove it. Totally nonchalant, like "I'm cold. Can you cover up my legs? Oh, and while you're down there, can you get that machine out of my vagina? Thanks, sweety".

My phone is ringing every 2 minutes, making it difficult to start this little lady's IV, or finish any other task I'm trying to accomplish. For some reason, our hospital decided it was a great idea for all of the call lights to go directly to the nurses phone. I say "can I help you", they tell me what they want, and if it requires the nurse, I take care of it. If it's something like getting them an apple juice, or helping them to the bathroom, I still take care of it. Despite the fact that the call gets forwarded to the nurses aide, because they rarely answer.

So anyway, Mrs. Jones' new IV is finally in, and I start answering call after call. First it's the patient in 415, who got sweet-and-low on his lunch tray, but he only uses splenda, so could I please get him some. I explain to him that we don't have splenda, he throws a fit and tells me to look some more or call someone who can get some. I am interrupted in the middle of this conversation by another call from 428. I answer, "can I help you?" and all I hear is "..... bowel movement.....". I excuse myself from 415 and jog down the hall to 428 to find him laying in diarrhea. I sigh. This will be the 5th time I have changed this poor guy's entire bed in the last 3 hours.

Thirty minutes later, 428 is fresh and clean, new sheets, sitting pretty. He thanks me, I hold his hand and tell him no problem. My back hurts, my feet are aching, and my pedometer says that I've already walked 6 miles and my day isn't half over. As I'm washing my hands, phone rings again. I resist the urge to flush it down the toilet, dry my hands, take a deep breath, and pull the phone from my pocket.

Me: "Can I help you?"

Another nurse: "Mrs. Jones pulled out her IV again. (Laughs) And something about she wants the thing taken out of her vagina."