Awkward and Uncomfortable

Awkward and uncomfortable hospital moment last week:

One of my patients was a 70 year old woman . . . who looked like she was 45. She had had a lot of work done, and it was very obvious that she didn't want to look old. Her hair was my color and up in pigtails (which drove me crazy) and she had so much mascara on I began to wonder if there was some kind of surgery for that as well. I would lose her heart and lung sounds every time I moved my stethoscope into her bosom area, since, apparently, silicone does not let sound through.

So, near the end of my first day with her she asked me to bring her her black bag that was in the cupboard. I did, and she started to rummage around in it. Much to my surprise, she pulled out two pairs of lacey underwear and told me that she would feel so much better once she "got her panties on". Firstively, I very, very hate that word. With a holy passion. Secondively, I don't really need to know that much about you.

Here's where I got even more uncomfortable. SHE ASKED ME TO PICK OUT WHICH ONES SHE SHOULD WEAR!!!!!!!!!!!

I hate myself for the words that came out of my mouth in response. "Well. These ones would compliment this little pink stripe in your gown nicely."

Seriously? Seriously!?!

I left the room after making sure she didn't hurt herself putting them on. (Yeah. That's right. I had to watch a 70 year old woman put on her unmentionables.) I grabbed some Purell and found myself wishing I could disinfect more than just my hands.

My advice to you is this: Please don't let vanity take over so much that this becomes you in 40 years.

I had to put my finger up someone's butt

It was awkward. But she wanted it. So I did it.

She was 75, and fixated on the fact that she hadn't had a BM 2 days after surgery. That's completely normal, but try telling her that. No. Seriously. Try. Because she couldn't hear me. She kept telling me she wanted an enema. Well, the only other laxative prescribed, other than the docusate, senna, and milk of magnesia, was a suppository. So that's what we gave her. I lubed it up, and shoved it on in. Just so you know, you go up and over to the left.

She had a BM a little later, but wasn't happy with it.

I felt like smacking her.

Babies or Wounds?

So, today I got to watch a wound vac changing. Yep. We vacuum wounds in my world. We cut really porous sponges to fit your gaping wound (5 inches long and 2 inches wide. . . and I could see down into it. You know?), then we shove said sponge into your crater of a wound and then cover it with sticky plastic, cut a hole in the plastic and attach a Hoover. Well. Maybe not a Hoover. But, a big suction cuppy looking thing. And, the nurse I was watching told me that sometimes we get to fill your wound (which I've perhaps, perchance nicknamed Crater Lake in my head) with sterile water, then we take a sterile Q-Tip and dig out the green and white pus clinging to the shores of your cavernous wound. It made me all giddy, thinking about cleaning out infected, dehisced wounds.

So now I can't decide if I want to help deliver babies or remove goobers of infection from unnatural body holes.


I'll probably stick with babies.

For now.

Shaving

I hate shaving.

I wish there was an inexpensive way to permanently remove body hair. I'm so deficient at shaving my legs, it's pathetic. I end up having to be a contortionist in order to get everything. It's ridiculous.

And. I caught my nail on the razor and the feeling made me want to throw-up. I hate that feeling.

Stupid.

And. I hate the word piloerection.

Gravity is not kind to women . . . in so many ways

I catheterized someone. A real someone. She was out of it enough to not care that I was a student. And we refrained from telling her that this was my first time. That was for her own comfort.

Something I wasn't prepared for was the fact that gravity takes a nasty toll on . . . "things". You catch my drift?

When I took a look down there, all ready to stick that tube in, I found that it was nothing like the mannequins we worked on. They had two distinct holes. Two. This lady had . . . not . . . two. So, the nurse I was helping told me to just aim up. Oh. Okay. Helpful. So I did. And. It went in the wrong . . . area. Aaawwwwwwkkwwwaaaaaarrrrrd. So she had me pull it out and try again. The worst part about it, was that this milky, white fluid came out. The only response I got was 'Oh, she must have an infection'. Lovely. Poor woman. So, I aimed up a bit more the second time and then I got it in the right bodily tube. Thank the Lord. But I'm really glad I got to do it. Especially before my annoying partner who tries to do everything first. Ha ha!

Turns out that those things can migrate. Who knew? Did you know that they can also end up side by side? What the hell?

And that's what I did Wednesday. All while looking fabulous.

I officially hate med-surg paperwork

I do, however, love cute little 90-something year old men who say 'hurry . . . hurry!' when the nurse is helping him to the bathroom.

He was adorable.

I do not, as it turns out, like having a patient ask me if I want to spoon.

My Day Thus Far . . .

Let's see. Today I . . .

Threw-up after brushing my teeth. This created a conundrum for me because I wanted to brush my teeth afterward, but that was the very reason I threw-up in the first place. What to do, what to do. 8:30 in the in morning is too early to make that decision.

Started driving to school and realized that I had a flat tire. Again.

Drove the block and a half back to my house in reverse.

Called my dad.

Cried.

Called Les Schwab.

Had a cute man from Les Schwab put air in my tire and tell me I could drive to the nearest location.

Waited at Les Schwab for over an hour, and ended up smelling like the store. (Sexy)

Drove to school.

Actually got a salad for lunch, only to realize while I was eating it that all I wanted were the delicious croutons.

And now I'm sitting in the most boring, longest class known to man.

Nursing School

Why is it that the beginning of school always brings a sense of dread and panic? For me, at least. I'm sure Jana always relished the beginning of a new term.

School starts on Monday, and while I'm excited to someday be a nurse, I really, really, really don't want to start school. It's nice not to have to do homework, and get up early. I need to go buy my books, my uniform patches, my pen lights, my bandage scissors, and my hemostat (whatever that is) and I really would rather not. I also need to get my school ID (great, another picture to look drugged in) and my parking permit. Bleh. Why can't I just wear my stethoscope around my neck and pretend that I know what I'm doing?

Speaking of stethoscopes. My sister's boyfriend wanted to buy us all Christmas gifts, and I couldn't think of anything so Laurel asked if he could buy that for me. Sure. Why not? Oh my goodness, he bought an expensive one. I feel a little guilty. But, it's pretty and green and I want to keep it. So, oh well. Katie says he's trying to buy our love and affection. And I'm okay with that.

In other news, would anyone like to go buy about $700 worth of books for me?