Worry
Today was mildly crazy. Mentally, it has been dubbed "why Psych and Zoli do not get along." I had three folks to be responsible for today: a really nice and really sick elderly gentleman with a broken hip. He's in the OR nowish, and my team is giving it about even odds that he'll make it home after this ordeal. (I have no idea of the religious leanings of the family in question, so I'm hoping they wouldn't mind if they knew I was praying for him.) Second was a nice older farmer from IL with a broken leg (we see a lot of orthopedic patients) who was ridiculously healthy, with the minor exception of having a metal heart valve. Oh. I did all the work to get him set up for surgery only to realize the nice cardiology fellow sitting across from me had just finished the same work - we realized this when we both reached for his chart at the same time. D'oh!
And.... then there was no. 3. A young guy, quite sick as well, but his was mostly mental. Picture this - when I walked up to the psych ward there was a tall guy standing at the nursing station hollering and cussing loudly enough to drown out most thought processes. My reaction? "That must be the guy I need to see." Yup.
And while I loved working with and for the two other folks today, the profanity, the disorganization, the... ERK... well, it was about to drive me bonkers. I may have been fuming under my breath while writing up my recommendations. He kept it up all throughout, too, including when my attending came up to see him herself. And as we were leaving... he flung himself straight at the window of the 15th floor and (thank heavens) rebounded off it onto the opposing wall.
I don't think I have the particular combo of patience, compassion and serenity to work with psych patients. The experience always leaves me with the competing desires to throttle or comfort them.
And.... then there was no. 3. A young guy, quite sick as well, but his was mostly mental. Picture this - when I walked up to the psych ward there was a tall guy standing at the nursing station hollering and cussing loudly enough to drown out most thought processes. My reaction? "That must be the guy I need to see." Yup.
And while I loved working with and for the two other folks today, the profanity, the disorganization, the... ERK... well, it was about to drive me bonkers. I may have been fuming under my breath while writing up my recommendations. He kept it up all throughout, too, including when my attending came up to see him herself. And as we were leaving... he flung himself straight at the window of the 15th floor and (thank heavens) rebounded off it onto the opposing wall.
I don't think I have the particular combo of patience, compassion and serenity to work with psych patients. The experience always leaves me with the competing desires to throttle or comfort them.