my back hurts. my arms are sore.

three nights of repositioning two patients whose one leg appears to be bigger than my waist (and believe me, my waist IS large!) is taking its toll on me. we don’t have a lift team, and even if we do, i don’t think they should be called every 30 minutes to lift one leg or one arm.

i have nothing against morbidly obese patients. i believe they deserve the same medical care and attention that everybody else does. i know i shouldn’t feel sorry for them, but i will be lying if i say i don’t feel sorry for them.

how humiliating is it to call the nurse for things that other people just take for granted?

i can’t count the number of times W called to help him move his leg a few inches to the right or to the left. it usually takes two people to lift his leg, usually, i get impatient waiting for other nurses to be free, so i just go ahead and do it myself. my bones cracked.

a little over 500 pounds, W is too weak to even hold a plastic cup with juice, but God knows he wanted to try. on the process of trying to be independent, he spilled his juice twice. and we ended up changing his gown twice.

lifting his arms actually made one nurse fart. to maintain our professional aura, we all pretended it was the patient in bed 2.

the other patient is T. he is a little over 400 pounds. he kept telling me his arms and legs are really really swollen, and he is concerned. he said the doctors looked at it in the morning but didn’t really tell him anything. i told him i’ll check his chart, because the truth is, it was really really hard for me to tell the difference.

working as a break RN for two nights, and then having T on my list on the third night was physically draining. i would go home and just refuse to carry my 18 month old boy. he weighs 27 pounds, and probably weighs less than W’s arm, but i had no strength left.

at home, i lied on the floor for hours, thinking about a lot of things.

i knew i felt sorry for the patients. it pained me to see them struggle with their independence because it was just not possible for them to reach their back to get rid of that itch. it must be frustrating to go to MRI, and find out MRI can’t be done because you can’t fit in the close MRI thingy. it must be embarassing to be a full grown man and not be able to lift your legs, or hold up a cup of juice, or turn to your side. it must be degrading to get every nurse in the room just so you can face this way instead of that way. it must be utterly humiliating to know that you need two nurses to insert your foley catheter. one with the catheter, and one who will locate where to insert the catheter. once, it was a symbol of their manhood. now invisible, it must make them feel the same. unseen. unheard.

i lied on the floor for hours, thinking about a lot of things.

i didn’t know i felt sorry for myself, but i did. for being in a situation i can’t control, and i can’t change. i want to complain, but it won’t chnage a thing. all i can do is stretch my back, massage my arms, and feel sorry for myself.

when i gave report to the AM RN, i told her to make sure she has at least three other people to help her turn T. she looked at me with this mocking smile, and asked: “what does he do at home May? his neighbors turn him? if he can’t turn himself, then i guess he stays where he is.”

i know i should have blurted out a smart sounding reply to that one, but i remained speechless. there was silence, and all i could hear was a creaking sound. from my back.