Two more months of nursing school. Two more months and I will finish up a 7 year long college stint. 7 years! Of just undergrad!
Two more months and I will be thrown to the wolves, expected to manage sometimes 15 patients at a time. Two more months and it will be just the beginning.
We had a patient wandering around the ED the other day. Female. Anywhere between 30-50 years old. Wearing FILTHY sweatpants and a fluorescent pink tube top. Her face was SO incredibly tired and she had the look of a person who was mentally ill, destitute, exhausted, and angry. She had been marching around, demanding food for about 20 minutes. It seems that, the more of a commotion you rattle up in the ED, the less people are likely to pay attention to you. Unfortunately, if you are mild-mannered and polite, you are also likely to be ignored. Go figure on how to advocate for yourself. I suggest, just bring a magazine and be prepared to wait 12 hours. Lower your expectations. And if you have to go to the bathroom, figure out how to detach yourself from the cardiac monitor.
So this patient had been approaching numerous nurses when someone finally asked me to go get her a tray and I obliged. On my way back from the room where we keep the food, I saw another nurse carrying a food tray. I asked her who it was for (I had a hunch we had both gotten fed up and were getting a tray for the same lady) and she started to say something negative about the aforementioned patient. Something to the effect of, “That crazy, filthy bitch who won’t stop pestering everyone.”
And then she paused. . . Her face softened for a moment – a rare sight because this is one of those super frosty, harsh, loud ER nurses that can make a student nurse tremble and cry – her face softened and she said, “I’m getting it for that poor lady. I shouldn’t say anything bad about her because, ya know what? She’s hungry too. So I’m getting her food.”
I almost cried I was so happy. It was one of those extremely rare moments lately where I have this little glimmer of hope that my coworkers really are the kind of nurses I want to work with.
I’m not above jokes at the patient’s expense. Don’t get me wrong. Sometimes, everyone deserves to be the subject of a joke – especially in the ER setting where joking around is sometime the only way to face the horrible state of affairs. But, I feel like I almost never see my coworkers stepping back and saying – You know what – these are human beings. That’s it. They’re human just like me and my family and I’m going to treat them humanely, at least.
On the same note. A paramedic dragged in one of the resident drunks; one who is only mildly combative, thus a wee bit easier to tolerate. The man was wrapped in at least 8 sweatshirts/jackets to try and keep out the cold. He had peed himself (an almost universal characteristic of drunks in the ER) and was wearing a pair of women’s shoes – presumably the only pair he could find. He had frostbite and a bottle of vodka in his pocket. I was just staring at him while the paramedic and I waited for the nurse to triage the patient. Half to myself and half to the paramedic I said, “I bet this guy didn’t know he was going to grow up like this. When he was a little kid, back in Ecuador or Mexico, he had no idea he would be a homeless drunk in Queens, New York.”
Whenever I am feeling disgusted or reeling from the smell of a patient’s feet, I try and think about them as a little kid – because that always works to help me recover my composure and continue with the job at hand in a more compassionate manner. Even when it is a totally gross, nose-wrinkling job. Not one of these homeless guys expected this from life.
The paramedic smiled and said, “Yeah, I’ve thought that before too. That’s why I always treat these guys right. Some of the guys like to rough em up, but I just bring em in because they don’t like being like this either.”
Score one for a FDNY paramedic in my book.
