Nurses: RESPECT

*This is the 2nd post of the day, there's one before this if you want to read it in order.

**Pretend that this post was written six months ago

***Also pretend that I'm an organized, efficient, good-time-management type of person who doesn't procrastinate**

To all nurses: After having endured three straight, 10-hour days on the ambulatory surgical unit (ASU) during my first clinical rotation, I can only say that you are special, special people.

For my first rotation, I was put on the ASU floor, which is where patients who are coming in for surgery and leaving that same day come. The ASU performs pre-op and post-op, outpatient care. This was the first time our surg tech teacher decided to place us on this floor, but her thinking is that she wants us to see what happens before and after patients are wheeled into the OR doped up on Versed.

My first day was on Tuesday (I have clinicals TWR and class MF) and I was to report to the floor by 6:15 am.

............WHAT? There's actually existence between the hours of midnight and 9 am?! Who knew? And more importantly, who didn't want to know that life exists between those hours of unholiness? Um, moi.

So, when my phone alarm exploded next to my ear at 4:30 in the morning on Tuesday, I did not hop out of bed like Christmas morning per usual. It was more like a full-body slither of malice a la The Grinch...

(I seriously just searched "Grinch slithering" and the above picture came up in .00346 seconds...thanks Google!)

Anyway, I was not happy. I was exhausted, anxious, grumpy, excited, nervous and seriously questioning the direction of my life. Could I seriously ever wake up this early again? Is becoming a PA worth it?! While pondering, I- for whatever reason- realized I was starving. I went out to the kitchen, located and kissed Tyson's perpetually-smelling-of-Frito's head and stood in front of the fridge. What in the heck do you eat at 4:30 in the morning. Isn't it a law or something that you don't eat eggs when the moon's still out?

Ew.

Normal breakfast items just seemed unnatural. So instead, I chose to gorge myself on cold leftover quesadillas and hot wings on the couch in dark silence. As I later pulled into the hospital parking lot that morning, under a sheet of stars and darkness, with my spiffy white coat on and my stomach full of nerves, I totally regretted my breakfast choices. Lesson learned.

I met my teacher at the front lobby so she could walk me up to my floor elementary-school style. So, so lame, but I had never been up to that area and could barely find my way to the main entrance of the hospital with its blinking lights and red arrows, so I'm glad she took me up there.

And I'd just like to say that this hospital is seriously designed with the intent to make you think you've lost your freaking mind. You turn down one corridor- door, door, green block, tan block, door, sliding door, round silver button- and turn down another corridor and it honest to God has the exact same pattern. Everywhere. Every hallway. Even the people look exactly the same. It's creepy, to say the least.

The (Hospital) Matrix 

So, as my teacher was winding me up and around and side-to-side to the ASU floor, I was freaking out because I knew that I'd have to find my way back out eventually...right? I can leave this place, right?!

I was quickly introduced to the Charge Nurse who- even though she was smiling- sorta scared me. I'm pretty good at picking up auras. And her aura was cage fighter.

After my teacher left me, Nurse Ratchet passed me off onto another nurse who was really nice and welcoming and all, but I totally felt like a chubby toddler on my first day of school. I want my mommyyyy. Who are these people???

Much of my time spent on the ASU floor was taken up with watching nurses chart on their little computers. They charted the patient's height, the patient's weight, the patient's Latex allergy, the patient's father's glaucoma issues, the patient's 37 meds he'd taken that morning, the patient's last bowel movement, the patient's favorite color ad nauseam. And I mean that literally- to the point of my feeling nauseous. Or was that the hot wings I ingested at 4:45 that morning? Hmm.

I did get to do a few exciting things while there. I made and brought multiple cups of coffee to Mr. Oldpervert in Room 17.

Mr. Oldpervert is ready for his Sponge Bath! 

Oh, and I was asked to bring a cup to Room 7 by one of the nurse assistant's. I distinctly heard two creams and two sugar. Not that hard.

  Well, I pleasantly delivered this coffee to Room 7, a nice elderly gentleman. Within seconds of me leaving I hear a booming voice summon me from the bowels of his dark cave room. "Is there SUGAR in this?!"

Err, yes. Apparently he was a severe diabetic. For the rest of the morning he glared at me through his bifocals.

Then I was miraculously upgraded from Coffee Girl to Wheelchair Girl.

Nurse: (standing in front of obese patient in wheel chair who was ready to leave) Would you take Ms. Only-Speaks-Rapid-Spanish down to the front of the hospital. Her ride is here.

Me: Um, well, I don't really know how to get-

Nurse: (exasperated) Down this hall, press the green button, through doors on left, turn right, jump through fire ring, while holding woman in wheel chair press the red button while saying, "abracadabra," when you meet up with the man with a long beard, tell him the meaning of life, he will then give you access to the elevator.

Me: Okay! Sounds great! Will do!

I smiled and dumbly said, "Hola" to the woman. I got behind the chair and tried to push. No budge. I pushed again with all of might- nothing. Ohhh, the chair's locked. Dur. After stomping my foot on the chair a few times, it released its grip. I leaned around to face the woman and gave a reassuring smile and thumbs up. She looked at me the way I would look at a red-eyed, stumbling pilot before take off. Terror. 

ANDDD we're off! (To our imminent death.)

I made it to the hallway and pretty much wandered around pushing this robust Latina woman into dead ends and down wrong elevator wings. I kept giving her reassuring smiles and thumbs up along the way even though I seriously had no *&^*^%* idea where we were. However, once we reached the morgue, I decided it was time to suck it up and ask for directions. By the time we felt sunlight on our heads, about 30 minutes had elapsed. I brought her up to the car and an annoyed little man got out, speaking Spanish rapido to the woman. She said something back to him and they both cast angry looks at me.

I was like, "Ohh Bien! Adios! Gracias! Chiquito chalupa!"

What I did like about being on this rotation was that I could be with a patient from beginning to end. There was an older patient who was having a bone marrow biopsy. I got to sit with her and her husband while they waited in pre-op and talk with them. And then she asked if I would stay with her during the procedure and OF COURSE I said yes. Warmed my heart (and I hadn't seen that procedure before).

We started to wheel her down as her husband asked me to send up prayers while we were down there. So I did. I'm not religious at all, but I prayed for them in my own little atheist way, truly hoping for their sake that someone was listening.

And it made me feel so good, like I was actually helping someone. Maybe there is something to this prayer stuff. When we brought her back up, I got to be there when they were reunited and see the relief that it was over and everything had gone well. They thanked me and she said she couldn't have done it without me there. She called me a "sweet girl." I'll never forget her.

It's a different world when your patients are awake. It's easy to forget that there are people under the blue surgical drapes of which I'm excitedly looming over. Another lesson learned.

Up next: My foray into the Butt Hut. You won't wanna miss that. Or maybe you will. I'm pretty sure I wish I'd missed it...

Bucking Bronco

I feel like for the past couple months I've been strapped onto a bucking bronco.

A bronco who just ate his oats. A bronco who just got slapped on the butt in tandem with a loud, cowboy, "YAW!"  

Mostly, this bronco called My Life sprints blindly towards a hazy horizon that seems to lie in the next universe. For long stretches, I just bury my head against the wind and brace myself for sudden impact into whatever it is we're racing towards.

Other times, I see our end goal- it's definite and clear and perfect- but it's perched at the top of a cliff, with 37 different ways to get to it. And all of the paths are risky to some degree and some may turn out shorter than others while some are filled with mines and Tracker Jackers and poison berries and I'm left poised, my arrow drawn back, frantically needing to make a decision, but paralyzed with fear about what new danger lurks around the bend.

Nerdy Hunger Games reference, anyone?

Anyway, the reason that I haven't updated my blog, cooked anything, begun a running program, lost 15 pounds, sent Kevin cookies or done anything productive is because my life has been really darn stressful. Still is actually, increasingly so because I may have...a new career plan!

(DON'T you roll your eyes, this is the last time!) 

But before I get into that I'd like to create a sort of saga of my surgical tech life where I left off. We will relive every moment in excruciating detail, filled with stories of other people's organs and me crying a lot...

You won't want to miss it.

...............


Still reading? No? It's just my mom out there?

Well then, I'll keep it short to just the highlights. Hmph. 

And before I begin, I do realize that there are people in the world who have it way worse than me. Whose lives are way more stressful and tiring than mine. I don't have a job, I don't have kids, I don't have a house or bills or health issues or really any other type of stress. But, it's my blog and I'll be dramatic if I want to!

With that disclaimer, I will tell you that being a low-ranking student on the OR floor between the hours of 6:15 and 3 is pretty darn stressful. Especially when you still can't remember how to find the bathroom or what a Harrington retractor is or how to tell your involuntary hiccups to cease and desist. *Quick story

*I was in surgery, gowned, gloved, the whole shebang, scrubbing one of my first cases solo with a crusty-ol' vascular surgeon when I got...The Hiccups. Not loud, open-mouth hiccups like some obnoxious people do- just regular hiccups. I was so nervous and so excited and so focused on the task at hand that I had probably not taken a breath in 45 minutes. So, naturally, my diaphragm began to spasm. However, after about six quiet hiccups while hovered over a pulsing endarterectomy,

I was quietly bellowed at by the surgeon (the patient's awake with a drape over their head) to, and I politely quote, "Get the F**K out of my OR and take your hiccups with you." In front of about nine other OR people. I backed away from my little instrument stand of which I had proudly stood next to and shriveled towards the door. Wahhhh.

So, ya. It's not all fun and games when you're poking people's carotid. It's still pretty fun though...

Up next: My experience on the pre-op nursing floor.