That “Suga Dot Betes.”

Don’t mind the title here. Today’s post really has nothing to do with diabetes. I was just quoting a colleague of mine. I’m currently working as a patient care technician, at a local hospital and I work the grave yard shift. Don’t ask me why. It’s truly rotting my soul and making me question my overall existence in healthcare. Nevertheless, I think it is a great career move, since I am pursing a nursing degree.

Anyway, over the weekend, I floated to the ER department to be a sitter for the whole night. Being that this was my first ever exposure to working in the department, let me tell you, I sure as hell wasn’t doing much sitting. All in all, since I haven’t even decided on what I wanted to specialize in, this post is really just to reflect on that experience.

So, there I was just sitting at a desk, logging patient activity every 15 minutes. In total, I sat and watched over 4 patients. Two of which stuck with me, I suppose. Both were really just safety protocol patients. The first one was an African American woman. Depressive. Manic. Alcoholic. She was admitted and her husband soon followed. HIV, STDs, and deceit were in question. She was very emotionally unstable, to say the least. She was literally arguing with her man the whole time and told him to leave. So, he left. Then, 3 hours later, she called him asking why the hell he wasn’t there with her. Lol. The second lady was psychotic. She was very creepy, with a complete mess of white hair and dark eyes; the one you see in like scary movies. She was a 50 something year old white female. Delusional. A huge safety concern. She paced everywhere. Irritated with slight upper extremity tremor. Nervous for sure. Right when she came in, she started asking me if the police were going to take her to prison from the hospital. She kept ranting about murder and how people were going to chop her body up. Apparently, a long time ago, she went on the missing board and was someone the police were looking for. Right before the end of my shift, I was distracted with paper work and changing shifts with the nurses, and the sneaky little old lady shuffle gaited and wondered down the hallway. Sneaky little minx. Luckily, the other staff were watching my back.

In addition, in the middle of the night there was a huge muscular dude (probably in his 50s) who came in ETOH-drunk. He was getting belligerent and pushed one of the nurses out of the way, so that he can leave. Mind you, he wasn’t in any stable condition to leave. He didn’t come in an ambulance for no reason. Anyway, he ripped all his IVs out and blood was literally running down both of his arms all over the place. I had to help one our EMT guys to contain him. We body slammed him to the bed. That was excited. I felt a rush of anger for the world just rush out of me. Very therapeutic on my part. Nevertheless, the doctor immediately came in and cuffed the restrains on him, while we held him down. The nurses were on the sides applying pressure to his IV sites and starting new ones. The nurses wanted us to strip off his jeans, in case we need to intervene for I&Os later on. So, the EMT started cutting through his jeans. Then, the patient said, “What are you faggots doing? Trying to look at my cock? You suck cock? You gay fucks!” The EMT replied, “I’m sorry, I’m not really turned on by small inanimate objects.” I was trying to keep it together, but I just couldn’t stop laughing.

In retrospect, I thought the ER was very exciting for me. There was certainly a crap load going on. The need to think quickly, intervene, not much concern about patient interaction; you’re in control. Do what you have to do to admit, stabilize, and then turf the patient somewhere. Again, I thought it was very exciting for me. I’m currently a tech in the med-surg department. And in comparison, I’m not sure if I could handle mind numbing monotony day in and day out… “Hi, I’m going to be your tech today…Oh what’s that? You pressed the call light cause you’re requesting more pain meds? You need help to the bathroom?” #killmyself.

Let me know what you think! Leave a comment below!

Cheers,

SV.

Author: nursesarereal

My nursing professor once said that keeping a journal, over time, will allow me to see growth. In myself? I’m not sure yet. I’m hoping. I like to believe that nursing school saved my life. Maybe I’ll have some fun doing this. Cheers.

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