October, 2007 Archive

the sight of a grown man crying in despair is not an easy sight.

i guess that is because i was raised in an environment where men were discouraged from showing their emotions in public. a culture which sort of degrades those men who were too weak to cry.

he came rushing after he got the phone call from our patient. she was already seated on a chair next to her bed, her IV access pulled out, wearing her clothes. she had been threatening to go home and refused every little thing her nurse requested her to do. clearly unable to make decisions for herself at her state of withdrawal, she was a concern for all of us.

when he saw her clutching one of the hospital pillows, demanding they get out of the hospital quick, he was still a picture of that man who wanted to make everything work. you know, that image of men who just want to protect their own, because they are strong.

when she started making insensible allegations and demands, forcing him to decide he cannot argue with her anymore, he broke down. he sat on the chair, covered his face with his hands, and didn’t mind that we were watching them. the heavy weight of dealing with an alcoholic wife for years just got too much to bear.

i followed the patient to the other unit, where she tried to run, thinking she knew where she was going. when i finally caught up with her, he thanked me and said he will take it from there and he will be back to sign the AMA (against medical advice) paper works.

when he came back, he was very apologetic. and was very open. apparently, his wife was a living saint when sober. now, the drinking had been way out of control, and he was getting scared for their little kid, because sometimes, he would come home from work and she would be so stoned, the house would be in complete chaos. he said he felt like he already tried everything he was told to get her helped, but so far, nothing really worked.

he left the unit with a burden that showed in his face, in his every move. all we could do was wish him well. we all sounded so lame.

i felt sick to my stomach. it was one of those nights when you wish you can have some magic formula handy to make other people’s pain disappear. it was painful to watch him, it was even more painful to empathize.

i could have screwed up my entire life and blame it all on you. you know, the kind of things expected from somebody who has father-daughter issues. issues that are extremely difficult to resolve, impossible to forget. i could have lived my whole adult life in misery of not being able to go past the impasse, be a pain in everybody’s neck and just say…you know, my dad never REALLY loved me, that’s why i’m like this.

but i didn’t.

i could have hated you from the minute i realized you are one of those people who should have been stopped by the government from having more children. i could have raised my arms in resignation and said you were hopeless, when, countless of times, you embarassed yourself and your family with your drunkenness to the point of unspeakable humiliation. 

but i didn’t. because you taught me something.

i have learned from our relationship the discovery that love can be stubborn. if it was not, how do you explain the fact that after all your misgivings, your absence, your crappy excuses, your neglect, your broken promises, and your lies, i still love you. really love you, like you were the world’s perfect dad.

i still do. honestly.

i intended to bare it all. start from the beginning and enumerate all the things that point to the conclusion that you do not deserve to be fondly called ”dad”. arguments that will explain the scars that broke my spirit since i was a little girl. just to get it off my chest. just to heal myself. just to set my soul free.

but i won’t. because there is no need.

for one, with all the crazy father-daughter stories we hear everyday, i really have no business complaining. compared to the wacko dads everywhere, you are a saint. and i say that without meaning to be mean. besides, the memories will always be there. i cannot take a drug that will erase the vivid recollection of the past. there is no way i can escape the pictures of your absence from the significant events in my life. i will never be able to understand why for you, even my best is never good enough. and i will never understand why i still try to do my best, just for you.

but i won’t dwell on that. i will, however, focus on what i have.

i only have two things. but they are more than enough.

first, the times you have shown me love. i will hang on to those times and remember them often. i will use them to convince myself that those sweet memories are the ones that truly matter. i will only cherish the mental pictures of those times i really felt we had a connection, and i will choose to warm my heart with those thoughts.

then, i have my kids. i have what it takes to change and stop the cycle. i will use your negative example and turn things around. i will try my best to be a better parent. i will be there for them. i wil be there for them.

if, and when i accomplish that, maybe, even when you are long gone, i will wear a smile and thank you, sincerely, for the way you influenced me to be a better mom.

for now, nothing will change. i will still love you. like you were the world’s best dad. and even though the fact that you go around telling people you’ve never loved my mom pains me to the core of my being, i will still be here. 

i will not expect you to explain. i will not demand anything. there will be no furher questions asked.

answers are never enough anyway.

the gauze dressing was soaked with blood, so i changed it. i was not ready to see her wound, so it sort of shocked me that it looked so nasty. her whole little finger was lacerated from it’s base to the tip, and i was sure i saw her little bones. i cringed at the sight and breathed that sigh of relief again: “thank God it wasn’t me!”

i then tried my best to convince the doctor for an xray, because in my untrained eyes, i was sure that her bones in that little finger were all broken. the doc was sure it was just a laceration, and will just need a few stitches. no matter how much i hoped he was right, i had this stinging feeling in my gut that it was much worse. a few days and ten stitches later, i was so glad to know that i was wrong.

it happened when i went to the restroom. i came back to see other nurses in my patient’s room. she was on the floor. her frail 86 year old body did not cooperate. hit by an extremely bad case of urinary tract infection, she had the urge to pee every hour or so. stubbornly independent, she wouldn’t hear of suggestions to use a diaper or a bed pan. unfortunately, i agreed with her.

she spoke spanish only, but we sort of had an understanding about when she wanted to go. we were okay the whole night, we managed. then, she fell on the last 15 minutes of my shift.

there were a number of reasons why i stuck to my decision not to ask the doctor for a foley catheter, or for restraints. i felt very strongly about my decision that i ignored everyone and was annoyed by their unsolicited, redundant advice for me to call the doctor. i told myself that i didn’t care about what they say, i just cared about my patient.

first of all, i did not question the doctors’ decision about the absence of the catheter because i did agree that it will only be a possible source of further worsening of her already bad infection. i am old schooled like that, and i am not embarassed to admit it.

secondly, it irritated me to no end that others have blatantly suggested restraints just because she was not independently able to get out of bed to the commode. they implied that because she kept on trying to be independent despite her unsteady gait was a proof that she was confused. i looked at those who were concerned with a set of weary and questioning eyes. although i answered them with complete cold silence, deep inside, i complained about their insensitivity to those who are aged and weak. i reasoned inwardly that it was inhuman to restraint her just because i wanted to save time and energy. it was true that she always needed  my assistance and she ate up most of my time, and i am not going to be hypocritical about the fact that it was tiring, but i did not see why that was enough reason for me to demand an order for a restraint. it would have been something that i can easily convince the docs to order, but i never considered it, so i never called for it.

when she fell, because i was out and i was not there to answer to her call immediately, judging, disgusted eyes were on me. some even had the audacity to actually say it outloud: “this would never have happened if she had a foley or she was restrained!”

the thing about pseudoguilt is that it used to consume my entire system, i cannot just ignore it. the thing about time is that it teaches people how to go around the idea of pseudoguilt and turn it around. i know now that i am not what i used to be. i stood there looking at her bleeding forehead, and i realized that i was only guilty for a couple of seconds. i thought it was stupid of me to stick to my guts and idealistic craziness, but the bottom line is that i still felt like i did not do something wrong. i acknowledged the reality that the situation was beyond my control, and it was not my fault she fell.

in the middle of my arrogant, self proclaimed innocence,  i heard the the patient’s loud, painful: “AWW AWW AWW AWW!” one of the nurses who was tyring to help her up accidentally ran the bed’s wheel over her little finger.

when she was settled back to bed, the nurse kept saying she felt horrible. she cleaned the wound and dressed it twice. then, over and over, she kept saying she felt horrible. in my head, i kept saying “oh my God, thank you it wasn’t me!” clearly, it has nothing to do with my inability to empathize with my patient’s terrible situation. it was a truthful admission that i was relieved not to be subjected to that kind of genuine guilt.

if i was the one who moved the bed and accidentally ran the patient’s finger over, i swear i will still be wallowing in the worst kind of self blame that i would have ended up eating a whole bag of chips ahoy daily, just so i can sugarcoat the deadly guilt. i know others might think i am exagerrating this, but i’m not. others may even think i am making a big deal out of such a small thing, but i’m not. i hate it that i am this honest when it comes to blogging my issues here, but it is what it is, and i do not really expect everyone to understand all of me and my absurdities.

there are a lot of things i discover about myself everyday. most of them amuse me.  there are times however when i realize i am this horrible perosn who couldn’t care less about others, that even i, am appalled at my own selfishness. i wish i can apologize to O, the nurse who accidentally hurt my patient, for thanking God it was her who accidentally messed up, but i can’t, so i didn’t. everything happened so fast in  my head, i really did not have the time to explain and expose my evil side to her.

the fact that when i told this story to my husband, he kept quiet and looked away, did not help me. he might be thinking a totally different thing, but with the crazies like me, i have concluded he was thinking he couldn’t believe i could be THAT self-centered. the other fact that there are a number of fires going on around here, is just making matters worse.

i was tempted to get the camera. i wanted to show it to everybody, just to know if i was right when i thought it was the biggest poop ever. the patient himself was shocked, and got a little dizzy, when he looked at the commode. he said, and i quote: “oh. my. God!” when he  saw that he filled up half (yes, HALF!) of the commode after he sat and concentrated for about 15 minutes.

i hate to be gross and all, but i can’t get the massive sight out of my head. i had a patient before who did not go for about a week and with a little help from me, we were able to deliver a bedpan sized poop which made the poor lady cry. she said she will never forget me for the rest of her life because i was the only one who believed her when she said it just needed a little help and it will surely come out. i instructed her to push while i put pressure on her you know where, where i certainly felt what seemed like a baby’s head, trying to peek out. the bedpan sized delivery was an unsual sight, but she didn’t go for about a week, so i saw the explanation right there.

but i digress. let’s go back to the other record breaking guy. “i just went yesterday. twice”, he said. that made matters fairly ordinary, so i didn’t expect anything else. only, when i helped him to the commode, and i saw his roomate go out of the room gasping for air a couple of minutes later, i was a little surprised, to say the least.

for the sake of privacy and all that kind of thing, i successfully resisted the urge to get a picture for all my coworkers to chime in if i was right, but they heard me flush the whole gigantic thing six times. SIX times! that, and the whole unit reeking of this familiar but rather extremely strong smell convinced them i was telling the truth.

i know some of you are thinking it is none of my business how much poop a patient makes. that i should not go talking about it in the blogosphere where people can read about it and think it is scary to be my patient because i do not respect patient’s privacy. i apologize for that thought but that’s not it all. that’s not my intention. i’m actually just very curious to know if any of you have seen something like it before. half of the commode, in one sitting? and coming from an underweight guy? i mean, where did it all come from? are you telling me that if you were the one who saw it, you will not be surprised and will just take it as something very ordinary?

sorry to those who are eating breakfast. it’s just that i have seen people pee a liter or more at once, but have never seen somebody poop that much. it was literally overwhelming. the fact that the patient himself was shocked and almost fainted at the sight of his very own poop is my excuse in talking about it without a sense of guilt. and i thought i’ve seen it all. just goes to prove i still have  along way to go before i call myself “experienced”.

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our hospital is going to implement plain uniform scrubs in april. i voted for chocolate brown, but i have been hearing that navy blue is sort of winning the hospital wide survey. this early, people are already complaining. they complain about every possible color that will win. i will wear anything, except bright yellow. i have to draw the line somewhere. those who do not like chocolate brown asked me why i like it. i just thought i tell them the truth: i think it’s nice to look like a bar of hershey’s. i know, for me, it’s ALWAYS about food.

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another curious question. this time, to christian parents. do you think i overreacted when i thought it is too early for my kids to listen to the story of how isaac was supposed to be killed and offered by his dad abraham? i just thought it is a morbid story for a 4 year old and a 3 year old.

don’t get me wrong, i love it that my father in law is always willing to tell my kids Bible stories, but it honestly sort of jolted me when he talked about the father and son tandem going up mount moriah for that sacrifice. with llines like “son, you are THE lamb, God wants me to sacrifice you.”, i cringed and hoped my kids were not really paying attention. since i had no idea if i was completely right, i did not stop the storytelling, but when i think about it now, maybe i should have. do you think age is not an issue when it comes to Bible stories? do you think ANY Bible story is appropriate for all kids, of any age?

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thanks to those who scratched with me when i have the itchies just from taking care of my chickenpox lady. which, by the way, was not my patient the next time i went back to work. the charge nurse realized i had too much in my hands with two isolated patients, one being a total care with so many things going on.

have a great weekend everyone. sorry for rambling on and on and on. my rhinitis made me do it.