Real-Life Scrubs - C. C. Vol. 6
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So, where to begin this time? After a nice breakfast of outmeal and milk, something I've been craving the whole time I've been in here, I feel pretty much ready to tell you people about the last 24 hours of my life or so. It's a long story, so it's undercut.
So Wednesday night they gave me the official booking of my surgery after two others, a spinal and a heart surgery. At about 11:30 my nurse came and whispered to me that my chances of getting surgery that night had just really dropped - there were two major trauma cases in emergency... I couldn't sleep because the pain was too severe, so I asked for two shots of the good stuff in a row (one, four hours, another one being my meaning of "in a row", so when I woke in the morning I was hearing things and having very odd waking dreams, mostly of hearing people's voices... So when I heard them talking about taking me into surgery, I thought I might be dreaming? But no, my male nurse Brad came in and told me I should hit the washroom. I called home and my Mom so some people would know I was actually REALLY going in for surgery now. Two lovely ladies came around in a very short time, and I hopped on the bed, getting rid of all my stuff into my dresser, and we started off. I didn't have an easy time of being moved because I don't get nauseated unless I move around when the "dolotid" stuff is still in effect. Which unfortunately it was... So they wheeled me through the cool auto-open steely looking doors into a waiting area - Section 4, and the four was in a nice serif font... They brought me a heated blanket, which was wonderful, and a puke pan, also wonderful. I quickly exhibited the contents of my stomach - an odd shade of lettuce-green - and they removed it for me at which time I felt a decent bit better, especially after they let me swab the nasty flavour of fermented medicine out of my mouth. My anesthesiologist came up, a pleasant man with some East Indian heritage, and he said my name sounded really familiar and asked if I worked on campus. Well no, I said, but my Mom does... When I said where she worked and who for that cleared everything up.
So he discussed my medical history with me and stuff, and then they were going to wheel me in, the one nurse and my anesthesiologist asked if my surgeon, Dr. Andrew McFadden, had talked to me yet. When I said no, they stopped wheeling me in the middle of the room. "I'm going to go find him," said the nurse, and she took off. The anesthesiologist leaned over and told me that he gets ticked when he can't see his patients before they go in. She found him and brought him over. He asked how I was doing. I said tiredly that I would feel better once they put me under, I was a bit nauseated and exhausted. He looked me in the eye, took my hand, and didn't say anything. He just held my hand for a minute, and then they wheeled me into the room. I was thinking, "Those are strong, steady hands, and the man behind those hands cares about me." A reassuring thought to go into surgery with.
When I came in the room, there was music playing, Duncan Sheik I think? Which was ironic because I saw the snippet of What A Girl Wants last night where they play some of "Half-Life" which is how I found out about that band... I was like, "Neat, there's music!" They told me some doctors really like having music playing, it makes them more comfortable. I was examining the surgery room for differences from the movies. They put a blood pressure cuff on my right leg... Put some saline through my IV cord to clear the blockage which stung a little. There was a tray of neat equipment... I didn't see a screen, but there must have been one because it was lacroscopic surgery... There were big lights that were just like the ones in the Spider-Man 2 scene... It was kind of cool. The operating table has arm "wings" that come out for your arms to rest on so the doctors can get closer to your middle. They gave me oxygen, and told me to think of a happy place so I could dream about it, because if you dream, you dream the whole time usually. I was thinking about singing worship music, and then I couldn't hear the talking anymore and then I didn't feel myself go under, but I went under from the shot through my hand where my IV thing is.
So I'll tell you what they told me about the surgery. They had a lot of trouble getting the darn thing out. They burst it trying to get it through the incision in a little bag and some of the gallstones popped out into my chest cavity so they had to go stone hunting but they figure they found them all. If I develop puss, that'd be why, she said. They asked if my one incision was more sore than the others, and it's not really so they were glad about that, because it was the tugging one... Otherwise the surgery went really well, no major complications. When I went to sleep it was 11:45, and when I woke up it was 1:45. Here's where things go sour.
POST-OP: Recovery Room
Names have been changed to protect the incompetent? I'm going to call her W.
THE CAST:
W: Incompetent nurse.
A: Poor surgered woman.
SN: The smart nurse who was beside mine most of the time, was one of the ones who prepped me for OR
Me. Various extras.
So the moment I woke up, I was lying on my right side. Whatever genius did this should be shot, and I think I have a fairly good idea who from the voices - basically my conception of the event was that I was too heavy (NO REALLY) and W., a weak little stick and the official nurse in charge of me, tried moving me on her own. Don't quote me on this being as I was definitely unconscious at the time? When I told Dr. McFadden that part he was mortified. I was in SO much pain. A number of helping hands helped me onto my back once they figured out what was wrong, that part was kind of fuzzy. Then the kicker - W. couldn't figure out my pain med dosing. She argued about it with Smart Nurse for honestly over 5 minutes. "But it should be this!" "It clearly says here to do this?" "That dose has got to be too high!" "She's heavyset!" A bona fide argument. Finally someone checks and it's right. Nightmarish pain, people running off to go clarify stuff about your meds - not a good combination to feel cared for. There was no communication with me about this the whole time, which is more my beef - sure they wanted to be sure, but they left me alone and in pain. Finally I got some pain meds in me and things were better for a few minutes. The main problem was that they were understaffed. The one girl, who I'm going to call A., came out of the anesthetic early and started thrashing around in pain. Here's where things get ugly. At that moment, W. is trying to give me tablet Tylenol, 3 of them individually with water. I am having trouble getting the first one down and try to refuse the second one - temporarily of course - long enough to get the other one down. Ocassion #1 where W. won't listen to me specifically. She puts the tablet in my mouth and offers the straw. I have no choice. Right then, A. freaks, and W. takes my water away after a small swallow containing my tablet which had succeeded merely in getting it lodged in my throat along with tablet #1, and my oxygen is just barely in reach. I start choking and no one is around or has the capacity to be so because they're all trying to hold A. down. (UNDERSTAFFED, MUCH.) I finally got it down into my esophagus, just barely, but still stuck and hurting, and I call for help without anyone even noticing me for a long time. I fumble around until I find my oxygen and put it back on because I'm hyperventilating. Why am I hyperventilating, other than the fact that I just almost choked to death?
A. is seriously freaked, and I can't blame her. She's in major pain, I know exactly how she's feeling, and everything she's saying is valid - but it sounds kind of like she's watched a few too many horror flicks? Or maybe horror flick people are most terrorized by a terrified woman coming out from under anesthetic? "Why would anyone do something like this to me? Stop hurting me!" and such. Problem lies in how the nurses handled it.
They sounded angry, not just stressed, and they kept telling her "It was all over." HECK NO. Lying there writhing in pain and confusion = not over. Then they were like, "You're okay! You're fine!" But like, yelling that in a "Why won't you get it and calm down" way, not at all reassuring. Obviously, A. is not okay. They never said, "It's going to be better soon!" or "We're here to help you." Just, "You just got out of surgery!" Which is totally not something I'd want to hear if I didn't know where I was... I was so distressed because I had A) almost died, and B) could hear every moment of this freakshow and I knew exactly how the woman was feeling. There's a kind of loneliness about that room that's heartbreaking. I kinda passed out for a few minutes here because I was literally hyperventilating and in shock.
So W. comes back and I wake up, and I'm like, "You guys sounded so angry to her." W: *trying to sound comforting* "She was just confused." Me: "Still, you guys sounded mad." W is then mad at me I surmise. "Who put the mask back on her face?" Smart nurse: "She did, she's holding it there." Then W. starts taking it off. I was fading and didn't fight for it then yet. She gives me the last Tylenol, and again tries to take the water away before I get them down. Apparently this time she can hear me choking though, and gives it back. Thank God. I start flailing for my oxygen and she's gone. I pass out for a few minutes. Every time this happens, I feel myself sinking in that peculiar way when you know you're actually dying, not just going unconscious. The helplessness was much worse than the pain, I'm an asthmatic and I know myself. But she wouldn't listen to me and wasn't there when I needed her.
She puts my oxygen on a nose thing, which I wake up when it touches my face. I manage to tell her, "I don't breathe through my nose. Ever." W: "Well, we'll just try it out" Me: "NO. Please give me the mask back." I'm actually begging here, like ready to snap. I mean, just ask my dentists, it even makes me high risk for cavities and stuff, I don't breathe through my nose. She gives me my mask back, thank God, and I pass out for awhile because my O2 content was getting really low. This is something I have personal radar for so I know when it's happening.
W. tries to take my mask away again. I panic and grab for it, "No, I need that!" W:"Well, we'll just see." She takes it away. I pass out again almost immediately. The next thing I hear is Smart Nurse running over saying, "Her oxygen content was WAY down!"
W: "Well she seemed fine!" SN: "She kept asking for it back!"
Finally they have learned about the O2, so they attatch it to my bed when they wheel me out and on the way back I see my Mom. Nobody called her, though they were supposed to call her twice. She came and waited for me for like 4 hours. W. is at the head of my bed pushing, so I can't say anything until she leaves. I reach for my Mom's hand because I've just been through hell. I am nearly crying and in full panic mode. I can only sort of talk, so when we finally get back to my room, I get my Mom to hand me my cell. I txt-message type her the first mini-thing of this ordeal, giving her names. She says she knows about the poor lady who woke up. I make her come close and tell her about the rest of it by talking. I'm sobbing by now, which really hurts, but I can't relax. Mom, to her credit, keeps her cool the whole time because she wants me to relax. Finally I manage to, but it took a lot of effort. I groaned when they plopped more Tylenol down for me to take, but I took it. And then the BP machine turns out to be a total piece of crap.
They brought me supper! Cherry Jello and Beef Broth and Apple Juice and some clear tea, which I didn't have much of.
Eventually I get some drugs in me and go to sleep, after watching TV for a little while. Dr. McFadden came to see me, and Mom stayed the whole evening. My Grandma and Geen came too, and my friend Jadon. *waves*
Today they said they might be okay with me popping out for a little while to get my ticket and see Snelgrove, but pretty much they're not releasing me until tomorrow for real...
Treating my family kind of crappy this morning 'cause I'm in a bad mood. They tried getting blood from me at 6:45 this morning, waking me up for it again, then they didn't suceed until 9:20. With me apparently, the gut instinct of the lab tech matters a whole lot more than some of the training. I'll need to make a lab tech manual if I'm ever in this place for anything again.
My internet is super sporadic... Finally got a phonecall back from my client for AdmireStudios, who said he was sorry he hadn't gotten back to me lately, but was really happy with how things turned out for the logo and he was looking forward to working with me again. I don't think I acutally told him what my fee was, but he was planning to write me a cheque and meet me with it this weekend.
My big problem today: Trying to get rid of my ticket for Dancing With The Stars. Which means I have to pick it up first. There's someone interested at work though, I told them I'd give it to them at a discount because it's kinda useless to me... After lunch here I'm going to take a shower and call Jessie and hopefully get out on campus for a little bit. Stairs are going to be the nightmare to see the show... Ben's show at the Snelgrove I mean.
Anyway, internets on for two seconds, so I'm posting this.
Also, they're moving me to Pediatrics because I'm one of the younger people on this floor. Could also be that I have a teddy bear?
So, where to begin this time? After a nice breakfast of outmeal and milk, something I've been craving the whole time I've been in here, I feel pretty much ready to tell you people about the last 24 hours of my life or so. It's a long story, so it's undercut.
So Wednesday night they gave me the official booking of my surgery after two others, a spinal and a heart surgery. At about 11:30 my nurse came and whispered to me that my chances of getting surgery that night had just really dropped - there were two major trauma cases in emergency... I couldn't sleep because the pain was too severe, so I asked for two shots of the good stuff in a row (one, four hours, another one being my meaning of "in a row", so when I woke in the morning I was hearing things and having very odd waking dreams, mostly of hearing people's voices... So when I heard them talking about taking me into surgery, I thought I might be dreaming? But no, my male nurse Brad came in and told me I should hit the washroom. I called home and my Mom so some people would know I was actually REALLY going in for surgery now. Two lovely ladies came around in a very short time, and I hopped on the bed, getting rid of all my stuff into my dresser, and we started off. I didn't have an easy time of being moved because I don't get nauseated unless I move around when the "dolotid" stuff is still in effect. Which unfortunately it was... So they wheeled me through the cool auto-open steely looking doors into a waiting area - Section 4, and the four was in a nice serif font... They brought me a heated blanket, which was wonderful, and a puke pan, also wonderful. I quickly exhibited the contents of my stomach - an odd shade of lettuce-green - and they removed it for me at which time I felt a decent bit better, especially after they let me swab the nasty flavour of fermented medicine out of my mouth. My anesthesiologist came up, a pleasant man with some East Indian heritage, and he said my name sounded really familiar and asked if I worked on campus. Well no, I said, but my Mom does... When I said where she worked and who for that cleared everything up.
So he discussed my medical history with me and stuff, and then they were going to wheel me in, the one nurse and my anesthesiologist asked if my surgeon, Dr. Andrew McFadden, had talked to me yet. When I said no, they stopped wheeling me in the middle of the room. "I'm going to go find him," said the nurse, and she took off. The anesthesiologist leaned over and told me that he gets ticked when he can't see his patients before they go in. She found him and brought him over. He asked how I was doing. I said tiredly that I would feel better once they put me under, I was a bit nauseated and exhausted. He looked me in the eye, took my hand, and didn't say anything. He just held my hand for a minute, and then they wheeled me into the room. I was thinking, "Those are strong, steady hands, and the man behind those hands cares about me." A reassuring thought to go into surgery with.
When I came in the room, there was music playing, Duncan Sheik I think? Which was ironic because I saw the snippet of What A Girl Wants last night where they play some of "Half-Life" which is how I found out about that band... I was like, "Neat, there's music!" They told me some doctors really like having music playing, it makes them more comfortable. I was examining the surgery room for differences from the movies. They put a blood pressure cuff on my right leg... Put some saline through my IV cord to clear the blockage which stung a little. There was a tray of neat equipment... I didn't see a screen, but there must have been one because it was lacroscopic surgery... There were big lights that were just like the ones in the Spider-Man 2 scene... It was kind of cool. The operating table has arm "wings" that come out for your arms to rest on so the doctors can get closer to your middle. They gave me oxygen, and told me to think of a happy place so I could dream about it, because if you dream, you dream the whole time usually. I was thinking about singing worship music, and then I couldn't hear the talking anymore and then I didn't feel myself go under, but I went under from the shot through my hand where my IV thing is.
So I'll tell you what they told me about the surgery. They had a lot of trouble getting the darn thing out. They burst it trying to get it through the incision in a little bag and some of the gallstones popped out into my chest cavity so they had to go stone hunting but they figure they found them all. If I develop puss, that'd be why, she said. They asked if my one incision was more sore than the others, and it's not really so they were glad about that, because it was the tugging one... Otherwise the surgery went really well, no major complications. When I went to sleep it was 11:45, and when I woke up it was 1:45. Here's where things go sour.
POST-OP: Recovery Room
Names have been changed to protect the incompetent? I'm going to call her W.
THE CAST:
W: Incompetent nurse.
A: Poor surgered woman.
SN: The smart nurse who was beside mine most of the time, was one of the ones who prepped me for OR
Me. Various extras.
So the moment I woke up, I was lying on my right side. Whatever genius did this should be shot, and I think I have a fairly good idea who from the voices - basically my conception of the event was that I was too heavy (NO REALLY) and W., a weak little stick and the official nurse in charge of me, tried moving me on her own. Don't quote me on this being as I was definitely unconscious at the time? When I told Dr. McFadden that part he was mortified. I was in SO much pain. A number of helping hands helped me onto my back once they figured out what was wrong, that part was kind of fuzzy. Then the kicker - W. couldn't figure out my pain med dosing. She argued about it with Smart Nurse for honestly over 5 minutes. "But it should be this!" "It clearly says here to do this?" "That dose has got to be too high!" "She's heavyset!" A bona fide argument. Finally someone checks and it's right. Nightmarish pain, people running off to go clarify stuff about your meds - not a good combination to feel cared for. There was no communication with me about this the whole time, which is more my beef - sure they wanted to be sure, but they left me alone and in pain. Finally I got some pain meds in me and things were better for a few minutes. The main problem was that they were understaffed. The one girl, who I'm going to call A., came out of the anesthetic early and started thrashing around in pain. Here's where things get ugly. At that moment, W. is trying to give me tablet Tylenol, 3 of them individually with water. I am having trouble getting the first one down and try to refuse the second one - temporarily of course - long enough to get the other one down. Ocassion #1 where W. won't listen to me specifically. She puts the tablet in my mouth and offers the straw. I have no choice. Right then, A. freaks, and W. takes my water away after a small swallow containing my tablet which had succeeded merely in getting it lodged in my throat along with tablet #1, and my oxygen is just barely in reach. I start choking and no one is around or has the capacity to be so because they're all trying to hold A. down. (UNDERSTAFFED, MUCH.) I finally got it down into my esophagus, just barely, but still stuck and hurting, and I call for help without anyone even noticing me for a long time. I fumble around until I find my oxygen and put it back on because I'm hyperventilating. Why am I hyperventilating, other than the fact that I just almost choked to death?
A. is seriously freaked, and I can't blame her. She's in major pain, I know exactly how she's feeling, and everything she's saying is valid - but it sounds kind of like she's watched a few too many horror flicks? Or maybe horror flick people are most terrorized by a terrified woman coming out from under anesthetic? "Why would anyone do something like this to me? Stop hurting me!" and such. Problem lies in how the nurses handled it.
They sounded angry, not just stressed, and they kept telling her "It was all over." HECK NO. Lying there writhing in pain and confusion = not over. Then they were like, "You're okay! You're fine!" But like, yelling that in a "Why won't you get it and calm down" way, not at all reassuring. Obviously, A. is not okay. They never said, "It's going to be better soon!" or "We're here to help you." Just, "You just got out of surgery!" Which is totally not something I'd want to hear if I didn't know where I was... I was so distressed because I had A) almost died, and B) could hear every moment of this freakshow and I knew exactly how the woman was feeling. There's a kind of loneliness about that room that's heartbreaking. I kinda passed out for a few minutes here because I was literally hyperventilating and in shock.
So W. comes back and I wake up, and I'm like, "You guys sounded so angry to her." W: *trying to sound comforting* "She was just confused." Me: "Still, you guys sounded mad." W is then mad at me I surmise. "Who put the mask back on her face?" Smart nurse: "She did, she's holding it there." Then W. starts taking it off. I was fading and didn't fight for it then yet. She gives me the last Tylenol, and again tries to take the water away before I get them down. Apparently this time she can hear me choking though, and gives it back. Thank God. I start flailing for my oxygen and she's gone. I pass out for a few minutes. Every time this happens, I feel myself sinking in that peculiar way when you know you're actually dying, not just going unconscious. The helplessness was much worse than the pain, I'm an asthmatic and I know myself. But she wouldn't listen to me and wasn't there when I needed her.
She puts my oxygen on a nose thing, which I wake up when it touches my face. I manage to tell her, "I don't breathe through my nose. Ever." W: "Well, we'll just try it out" Me: "NO. Please give me the mask back." I'm actually begging here, like ready to snap. I mean, just ask my dentists, it even makes me high risk for cavities and stuff, I don't breathe through my nose. She gives me my mask back, thank God, and I pass out for awhile because my O2 content was getting really low. This is something I have personal radar for so I know when it's happening.
W. tries to take my mask away again. I panic and grab for it, "No, I need that!" W:"Well, we'll just see." She takes it away. I pass out again almost immediately. The next thing I hear is Smart Nurse running over saying, "Her oxygen content was WAY down!"
W: "Well she seemed fine!" SN: "She kept asking for it back!"
Finally they have learned about the O2, so they attatch it to my bed when they wheel me out and on the way back I see my Mom. Nobody called her, though they were supposed to call her twice. She came and waited for me for like 4 hours. W. is at the head of my bed pushing, so I can't say anything until she leaves. I reach for my Mom's hand because I've just been through hell. I am nearly crying and in full panic mode. I can only sort of talk, so when we finally get back to my room, I get my Mom to hand me my cell. I txt-message type her the first mini-thing of this ordeal, giving her names. She says she knows about the poor lady who woke up. I make her come close and tell her about the rest of it by talking. I'm sobbing by now, which really hurts, but I can't relax. Mom, to her credit, keeps her cool the whole time because she wants me to relax. Finally I manage to, but it took a lot of effort. I groaned when they plopped more Tylenol down for me to take, but I took it. And then the BP machine turns out to be a total piece of crap.
They brought me supper! Cherry Jello and Beef Broth and Apple Juice and some clear tea, which I didn't have much of.
Eventually I get some drugs in me and go to sleep, after watching TV for a little while. Dr. McFadden came to see me, and Mom stayed the whole evening. My Grandma and Geen came too, and my friend Jadon. *waves*
Today they said they might be okay with me popping out for a little while to get my ticket and see Snelgrove, but pretty much they're not releasing me until tomorrow for real...
Treating my family kind of crappy this morning 'cause I'm in a bad mood. They tried getting blood from me at 6:45 this morning, waking me up for it again, then they didn't suceed until 9:20. With me apparently, the gut instinct of the lab tech matters a whole lot more than some of the training. I'll need to make a lab tech manual if I'm ever in this place for anything again.
My internet is super sporadic... Finally got a phonecall back from my client for AdmireStudios, who said he was sorry he hadn't gotten back to me lately, but was really happy with how things turned out for the logo and he was looking forward to working with me again. I don't think I acutally told him what my fee was, but he was planning to write me a cheque and meet me with it this weekend.
My big problem today: Trying to get rid of my ticket for Dancing With The Stars. Which means I have to pick it up first. There's someone interested at work though, I told them I'd give it to them at a discount because it's kinda useless to me... After lunch here I'm going to take a shower and call Jessie and hopefully get out on campus for a little bit. Stairs are going to be the nightmare to see the show... Ben's show at the Snelgrove I mean.
Anyway, internets on for two seconds, so I'm posting this.
Also, they're moving me to Pediatrics because I'm one of the younger people on this floor. Could also be that I have a teddy bear?