December, 2006 Archive

she was walking around the room half naked.
it is mean to say she smelled, but that was the fact.

i finally lost all reasons in trying to deny her need for restraints. i gave her the special ativan-after-haldol concoction. in a few minutes, she was out. out enough to give me a chance to clean her up. 

i was not able to read her medical history thoroughly. all i know is that she was a long time cocaine user. found drowsy at her house after obviously using what seemed like a lot of cocaine, she was brought to the ER with BP of 220/120. she was in the ICU for five days, before she was transferred to us, with some kind of a stroke that left her left side slightly weak.

after over four hours of running after her, she got me thinking. when i rushed to her room everytime she yelled, she got me thinking. when my legs ached and my back hurt, she got me thinking. when it terrified me to think she might drop on the floor, crack her head, or die on me, she got me thinking…

if people (like her) decide to do something (like drugs) that can possibly hurt them and people who love them…
what is the point in stopping them?

i would like to think we all want the people we love to live a healthy, happy life. to say it is extremely painful to watch somebody ignore that, and just disregard every possibility of increasing their life expectancy is an understatement.

but…

what can we do? they are thinking beings, and they clearly have the right to choose. if their choice is to waste their lives, what can we do?

when it is not enough that we have that spirit of “never giving up” on them, what else can we do?

when we have done everything we know we should and can do, but they still choose to waste their lives, what else can we do?

when we are done (if that is at all possible) blaming ourselves, for not doing more, for not being kinder, for not being nicer, and for not being there, what else can we do?

would it be cruel to “wash our hands” and just stop caring?
can we actually stop caring?

i looked at her. her two hands were strecthed on her sides, restrained with ties secured in bed. talking, but senseless. dressed, but undignified. alive, but lifeless.

i felt bad for her. she must have had a lot going on in her life that threw her off the edge. she must be in a lot of stress. whatever it is, she must have a reason for trying to get high, to forget.

on the other hand, i confess that i felt wasted.

i know this will sound heartless. and maybe it is, but it is the truth. on a certain degree, there was a part of me that felt like my time was wasted. like all the energy i spent to keep her safe and comfortable was pointless.

i felt wasted. yet in the end, i felt guilty for feeling that way.

but there she was, asleep.
unconcered.
oblivious to the fact that i was there.
unaware of the idea that i was overwhelmed by different thoughts her presence caused.

i don’t have an answer.
sadly, there are a lot of questions.

i was about to take my first bite. the aroma, the sight, the anticipation, was making me a little giddy. it was a heavenly place, and they serve THE best blueberry muffin on the planet.

then, a cry for help. “CALL 911!”

we all stood up. the elderly guy was in his chair, hugged by a lady, who was crying. in seconds, they were surrounded by people. from where i was, the guy looked a little pale, he was clearly breathing. in about 3 minutes, paramedics came. i looked the other way, and they got an IV in! these guys work like lightning!

people went back to their salads, i went back to my muffin. the paramedics wheeled him away in a gurney, and i said, “for sure, they will take him to…(the hospital where i work).

fast forward to sunday night. i got report on my first patient. a pretty straightforward gentleman who had syncope. staying overnight for some tests, after waiting in the ER for over 28 hours. report was interupted by the patient’s wife, who wanted to tell the AM nurse she was leaving.

i remember her! no, not because it was her scream that took me away from my mouth watering muffin for a minute. it was because i do not easily forget faces from incidents that involve paramedics with pretty upper arm tattoos, who arrive in minutes, and insert IVs in seconds.

when i did  my initial assessment, he was getting ready to sleep. i told him i was about three tables away from him last saturday, before he was taken by the paramedics. worn out by spending his saturday night in an ER gurney, he was understandably not in the mood to be bubbly. he just said “really?”, and sort of nonverbally expressed his desire to go to sleep. now.

i left him in peace.

i was gonna tell him i foresaw the future, but i did not. obviously, he was not interested in my newly discovered career.

so.

i woke up in an orgasmic trance. well, not literally, but so close to it. the dream was so real, i can still smell everything when i opened my eyes. it was good, and i’m still glad it happened, even if it was just a dream. no, i will not elaborate. not that my dream was obscene or something. it’s just that…

anyway, thanks for sharing your thoughts on being glad or sad after dreaming your dream.

can you believe it? the year is almost over.

anyway, one of my patients last night was a pastor, who was such a trooper. i mean the guy didn’t even complain when we had to transfer him to a different unit at 4 AM. he joked about us trying to drown him when the patient care assistant disconnected his O2 humidifier and sterile water accidentally went into his nose like it literally rained specifically inside him. other than that, he was really way too cool about everything, even his cancer.

the wife however was quite a different story.

at the beginning of the shift, she asked me: “does somebody clean this floor at all? we were here since saturday, and everytime i look at the floor, it is just so filthy i can’t stand it.”

i told her i will get the housekeeping to clean the floor.

“he is a pastor, and i am his wife. i believe that cleanliness is next to Godliness, not nastiness is next to Godliness. that floor is nasty. if you get the mop for me, i won’t mind cleaning it. really.”

i had to go get the housekeeping to clean the floor like it was an emergency. i didn’t really think getting the housekeeping is next to Godliness, but at least the pastor’s wife will have nothing else to say.

before she left, she called me. “make sure you answer the call light right away when my husband needs help, because the whole day i was here, it took  30 minutes for help to arrive, and i end up helping him all the time. i might as well be his nurse, right? only thing is, i hate nursing.”

there is something about her attitude. i can’t put my finger into what it actually is. she was not rude or something. i just found her a little bit odd.

anyway, somebody recently asked me, with a very sweet voice at that, if i am “gaining weight?”. she touched my shoulder like she meant she felt sorry she had to ask, but she just had to. because you know…uhhhmmm… questions are good.

i won’t bore you with all the overwhelmingly disturbing emotions i experienced after the matter of fact question was asked, but let me say this as a warning to all who want to be friendly by asking questions…

there is no good way to ask a question like that. there is no way. not the way you say it. not the way you change the tone of your voice. not the way you add physical contact. not the way you droop your eyelids like you are sympathy personified. this is a bad question, and nothing can make it good. nothing. none.

anyway, the horse shampoo is working. the proof to that declaration is the fact that while waiting in line to order our every three weeks cholesterol and fat fix at costco (hotdogs, churros, pizza), the lady behind me,  asked if i don’t mind telling her what i do with my hair, because “it looks really pretty and shiny”. her words, not mine. i told her about the shampoo, and she swore she will go and try it. in my 37 years of existence, nobody (not even the people i pay to say good things about me) has ever said anything nice about my hair. not even one. so there, i am a horse shampoo endorser now, and i have this shiny, thicker hair to prove it.

anyway, i still have a hundred things all mixed up in my sleepy head, and i can’t figure out a way to talk about it without missing a thing, so…

when you want something so bad,
and it happens in your sleep,
but never in real life…

does it make you glad,

or sad?