staring

Well excuuuuse me for interrupting the party!

If I had known radiology was such an exciting department I would spend more time there!

That woman looks just like my old 1962 Nurse Barbie, including the glasses.

The doc in the back must be an intern. He has either discovered his first pelvic fracture or he’s pointing to a very distended bladder.

And I’m pretty sure Grandpa Attending is old enough to have invented the x-ray.

Oh well.

What the heck do I know.

I can’t read an x-ray any more than I can read Russian.

I’m goin’ to the ER.

They have better parties there, anyway.

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You’ll notice a bit of a difference between this blog and Emergiblog. Because most of this blog is sequential, there will only be one post at a time actually on the blog, with the ability to go from one post to another at the bottom. Or, if you are like me, you like to read from the back to the front. That’s how I read magazines.

Don’t ask….

(Is it a faux pas to link to yourself? It feels too good to be legal….)

Oh, and everyone’s link is there at the bottom with room for more!

Thanks to my Super Webman (Shane) for the ideas and designs changes!

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I had last seen John in the Emergency Department the night before. I went home and finally fell asleep around 0500. John called around 0900 and said not to come in, that he just wanted to sleep as he had very little opportunity during the night.

After finally getting to his med/surg room at 0100, he was then “admitted” by his nurse, who proceeded to ask all the same questions that were asked by:

  • The ER triage nurse
  • The ER doctor
  • Three different ER nurses
  • The hospitalist
  • The surgeon

He wondered if anyone talked to each other.

It took until 0300 to “settle him in”. And because he had no medication ordered for sleep, they gave him the morphine that had been ordered for pain instead.

(Dilaudid in the ER worked wonderfully. Why Morphine on the floor orders? Trust me, I give both everyday to dozens of people. Dilaudid is the God of All Narcotics. Hands down.)

At 0500 they admitted another patient to his room. So much for sleep.

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I walked into the hospital room at 1300.

“What the HELL are you doing in a four-bed ward?” was the first thing out of my mouth.

Subtleness is not exactly my style.

My god, I didn’t even think modern hospitals even had those anymore! The room was packed. There were no chairs, so I sat on the end of John’s bed.

What about privacy laws? What about cross-contamination? What about the fact that this totally sucked? What about the fact that when I walked in there were no less than eleven people in the room, including the nurse?

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A different hospitalist had seen John that morning and said that the surgery should be done that day. His already elevated “liver test” had doubled overnight and the surgeon needed to know. The gallbladder was soon to be history.

John had not slept all night and had only napped briefly that morning. I didn’t stay long. He wanted to sleep and said he’d call me when he had more informtion on the surgery time.

I waited at home for the call. Did some mindless chores. Answered endless phone calls

And then decided to run to Safeway. It took all of 20 minutes.

During which time, the surgeon called. John was going to surgery in half an hour.

I grabbed my book, some water and some crocheting and flew to the hospital.

Only to discover the surgery would not be for six hours.

Per John, the surgeon strode into the room, told him he was going to the OR in thirty minutes, picked up the phone in the room to arrange for the OR team to stay (this was Saturday) in house and then came the deadly pause when John said…..

“They’ve been feeding me all day.”

He was supposed to have been on clear liquids.

“Nevermind…” said the surgeon. SLAM! went the phone.

I found out later the petite little spitfire surgeon called the day nurse at home to find out just how the error happened and who was responsible!

God, I love that woman!

So, by now there were only two people in the room, and I settled in for the wait for surgery. By and by the nurse came in for a blood sugar check. John introduced us.

“Hi!” I said pleasantly. “By the way, I’d like to see a copy of the lab work that was done today”.

“Uhhh…..you have to fill out a form…..confidentiality…..I can’t let you see……”

John piped up with “Oh don’t worry, this is my wife, she has my permission to see the lab work.”

“Uhhhhh…..I have to go ask my charge nurse………confidentiality…….”

Five minutes later she came back with a form that I had to fill out, take to medical records (on Monday), pay $25.00 and then I could get a copy.

WTF?

Verbal permission from the patient was not sufficient?

Nevermind that 8 hours before at least four other people in the room heard the exact results that I was now denied access to.

Can you spell “H-I-P-P-A”?

I knew that they could.

Apparently the C-O-M-M-O-N S-E-N-S-E to know how and why it was to be used was not part of the equasion.

Like I said before, no one gave a damn that I was a nurse.

And then, the piece de resistance.

At 1900 they tried to give him his diabetic snack. Three hours before he was due to go to surgery.

I am slow to anger. It was starting to build.

On schedule, at 2130, John was taken to the OR.

While he slept the beautiful sleep of Propofol-ed, I sat in the lobby waiting.

And seething.

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Up next: God hath no fury like Kim when she is pissed off to the breaking point.