nurse wretched

Last weekend's journey to the ER was a trip down memory lane, but not a pleasant one.  The paramedics wheeled me to my room, where I had to lay waiting for someone from the ER staff to take over. It didn't appear to be a particularly busy night at the ER--the rooms were not full to capacity--and yet, the waiting. It did provide the opportunity to observe some of the classic ER stereotypes in action, viz, the Crazy Patient, the Drunk Patient, and the Elderly Hypochondriac.  Under different circumstances, I might have appreciated this material much more, but I just wanted to know what was wrong with me and get the hell out of there.

As I lay there in Room #7 with my only friends, oxygen (or "O" as I came to know her) and IV ("Ivy"), in marched a surly and, unfortunately, familiar face--apparently the head nurse for the night.  She didn't smile, instead demanding, "Why are you here?" as she scratched out stuff on her clipboard.

"I was having convulsions ..." I began.

"Do you even know what that means?" she snapped.

"Um, some of my large muscles were contracting involuntarily and making my limbs flop around and I couldn't stop it?"

"Well you were aware of it, weren't you? If you were conscious, it wasn't [fingering air quotes] convulsions.  When you have convulsions, you're blacked out," she lectured.

"Oh . . ."

"So you weren't having convulsions," she scoffed.

"The muscles in my arms and legs and abdomen were involuntarily contracting and I couldn't stop them, so whatever medical term you have for that is why I'm here," was pretty much all I could think of to say. I didn't feel like getting in a fight with her at 2:00 in the morning, especially because I knew she was a gatekeeper of sorts. (Never fight with gatekeepers.)  I dreaded the thought of having her as my nurse for the night. Trust me, had she been on my turf arguing the same semantic point, I would have whipped out a dictionary, called all my friends employed in the medical profession, and polled people on the street to demonstrate that I had not been completely wrong to use the word "convulsion" in describing what had brought me into the ER.  But at the time, my heart just wasn't in it.

Besides, I recognized this person the instant I saw her.  She was the same evil nurse on shift nearly eight years ago, when I had to bring 10-week-old Jade in ER for a spinal tap. The same vile woman who, when the doctor told me that my infant had bacterial meningitis, said to my face, "Oh, that's bad.  So many mothers lose their babies to that!"  I stood there, shocked at the death sentence she had just delivered and unable to comprehend her level of heartlessness and lack of professionalism.  I vowed to myself that should Jade live through the night I would write a nasty letter to the hospital about this woman.  But then Jade eventually recovered and our lives went on. It took a long time before I could think about the whole episode without breaking down, so the last thing I wanted to do was to remember the Evil Nurse, much less ever see her face again.

And then I encountered her last weekend, in the very same room in which she so cruelly suggested that my baby would probably die. Before I could strangle her with my IV line she left, and I lay there wondering how I should approach requesting a different nurse.

Also, because I had been hooked up to a sodium drip for a few hours, I had to pee like a racehorse.  With all the lines though, I didn't know if they'd let me just walk to the bathroom.   I tried to call out for help from the nurse's station, but everyone either ignored me or pretended not to hear.  Finally, a clipboard-carrying woman came in to get my insurance information and to have me sign a bunch of paperwork.  (Incidentally, she was very sneaky about the way she tried to get me to sign an agreement to arbitrate, burying it in the pile and not explaining what it was.  Ever the lawyer, I read everything. When she saw me initialing the part that does not consent to arbitration, she seemed surprised and said, "No, no. Initial only if you don't want arbitration." "I just did," I said.)

Anywho, I asked her to get my nurse because I really needed to use the bathroom.  "Who's your nurse?" she asked.

"That woman over there," and I pointed to the Evil One at the nurse's station.

So Clipboard walked over to Evil and said, "[Evil], your patient in Room 7 needs a bedpan." 

"She's not my patient," says Evil without looking up. (Incidentally, I was somewhat relieved to hear that, but not entirely, because my bladder needed relief.)

Clipboard: Well, whose patient is she?

Another Nurse: Not mine. I have enough to do.

Another Nurse #2: Well, you been givin' me patients all night. She's not my patient. I got enough to do, too.

Another Nurse #3: I'm goin' on break.

And then back-and-forth arguing ensued over who would take care of me.  Everyone, apparently, had "enough shit to do," which apparently immunized them from having to take patients who happened to show up unexpectedly in the "emergency" room in the middle of the night. No one seemed to want to do their job because that would mean more work.

Finally Clipboard convinced someone to break away from her work for the four seconds it took to get me a freakin' bedpan. (Perhaps Clipboard understood that since I preferred to duke out any post-treatment litigation before a jury rather than an arbitrator, hospital personnel should not appear negligent in their care of patients.)  So some nurse finally showed up with a bedpan but made it clear to no one in particular that by providing the bedpan she had not agreed to take me on as her patient.  I was completely underwhelmed by her kindness.

About two hours into my stay, a nurse finally showed up to take some blood.  Although she had been one of those arguing about taking on another patient, she was actually really nice to me.  Turns out she is normally a post-op recovery nurse at a different hospital, and that she hates ER nursing because it is so unpredictable. But, she told me, this hospital called because they really needed help and she showed up to take a shift. She went on to complain about how she had been working since 7 pm the night before, without a break, and how her feet hurt.  She finished up with me and I heard her go back to the nurse's station and ask Evil if she could take a quick break. That's when more voice-raising began.

Evil [dripping with sarcasm]: Oh yea, right.  Someone else is taking a break now.  Why don't you just go take one, too?

My Nurse: You know, I haven't had a break for 8 hours. I really need to just sit down for a bit.

Evil: Ohhhh, sure, why don't you just go ahead?  Why don't we all just take a big break at the same time? Why don't we just close up the ER so everyone can have a break?  Wouldn't that be nice?

My Nurse: That's not what I'm sayin'. I'm not even asking for a full 30 minutes. I just want to sit down for ten minutes.  I been on my feet since 7:00.

Evil: Oh yeah, go right ahead.  Better yet, why doesn't everyone else take their g*ddamn break and I'll just sit here and take care of all the patients?

My Nurse: Hey, I'm not leaving the building; I just want to sit down.  Ten minutes...

Evil: Sure! Why the hell not?  You don't want to work, you just go ahead!

At that point I was wheeled away by a different nurse so that I could have a CAT scan.  When I returned my nurse came into my room in tears, venting about El Diablo.   Apparently  I missed all the really good stuff. 

***

How is it that people like Evil get to hang around and make people miserable for so long?

Look, I understand that ER personnel work long shifts and encounter all kinds of crazy people, hypochondriacs, people strung out on drugs and alcohol, and various other losers.  That's part of the job.  I know some who handle it very well and still manage to keep their humanity and sense of humor intact.  There are others, like Evil, who are inclined to look at everyone who walks in the door with contempt and to treat people like crap because it makes them feel more powerful.  These types belong at the DMV or behind the makeup counter of certain large department stores. The last place they should be spewing their toxins is in an occupation that  calls on them to be professional, caring, and respectful at the bedsides of vulnerable people.

And now I'm off to write a letter.

Comments

[MT]

Sounds like you have the basis of a class action for pain and suffering. Rotten, rotten, rotten luck. Good you can blog about it. Telling that it took you several days before you could blog about it. My off-the-cuff psychological hypothesis about such evilness would be (at no charge) that this nurse nurses foremost because she hates herself and sees the act as her penance, not because of any particular predisposition for the demands and rewards of the job. Then she tripped into the conceptual pitfall of overlooking bedside manner as part and parcel of the job, and being ill-equipped to reap the benefits or endure the demands, she's a vengeful cesspool of resentment. If those reeducation camps they have for teenagers worked I'd prescribe shipping her out to one of thems.

[Larry]

One thing I need clarified: I've never understood why race horses, in particular, need to piss so bad. Nevertheless, glad you got through it OK. My guess: El Diablo and others like her stay around because there is just plain not enough nice people willing to put up with the crap in an ER for the salary they get...and no doubt there is a union, some government set fee, or some other reason why you can't just pay them double what nurses in less stressful situations get. So all the smart nurses flee and figure out how not to get stuck in that job for 10 years; the dumb ones become El Diablo.

[CM]

Good, I'm glad you're writing a letter. But I'm not glad to hear about the convulsions (who says you need to be blacked out? Evil Nurse needs to consult a dictionary). You mentioned this was last weekend -- how are you doing now?

[Glen Whitman]

I can clarify the racehorse thing. The phrase "need to piss like a racehorse" should be parsed [need to] [piss like a racehorse], *not* [need to piss] [like a racehorse]. In other words, racehorses have no special need to piss that other organisms do not. Rather, racehorses piss in a particular way, and the speaker needs to piss in that way. And what is that way, you ask? In a long gushing torrent, as you'll know if you ever observe a racehorse pissing.

[dgm]

larry, you raise an interesting question and glen stole my thunder on the answer. well, sort of. as glen notes, racehorses piss in a gushing torrent. one reason may be that they hold it all in until they are back in the comfort of their stables (apparently they are bladder shy outside of their stalls); an alternative explanation for the phrase is that, where it's legal, racehorses are (or were) given diuretics to make them piss everything out and become lighter and faster. i've also heard "piss like a russian racehorse," but i'm not sure what russia has to do with it.

also larry, my nice nurse told me that the nurses at this local hospital do not have a union. i'm not sure what is keeping Evil there but i feel sorry for her colleagues and her patients.

mt,it's funny you mention the lawsuit. years ago when i taught legal writing, i used a scenario very similar to my first encounter with Evil as a fact pattern for an intentional infliction of emotional distress claim. the students had to argue based on existing law whether a claim could be had. i was a little surprised to learn that, with the rest of the facts of the story, it might well have been viable in some jurisdictions (but not likely as a class action, given the individual nature of each plaintiff's experience). and the best part was there were quite a few cases involving cruel and uncaring nurses and, in a couple of instances, doctors.

cm, thanks for your concern. the "convulsions" continued through last week, along with weird lightheadedness immediately preceding them, but only at night and only when i was lying down. i never slept more than an hour & 1/2 at a time. my primary care doc had me undergo a bunch of tests but gave me no advice on how to deal with the convulsions (other than to take valium). that's one reason i was taking my own efforts to get my electrolytes back in balance, assuming that was the problem. no more convulstion, no blood pressure drops, and i just awoke from my first good nights' sleep. i'm supposed to see the doctor this afternoon. i have very little confidence in her at this point.

[Larry]

I see, so [need to]/[piss like a racehorse] is in the same category as the notion of pissing on a flat rock. Very clear now. Say, that reminds me of the rockclimbing I used to do on Mt. Diablo...and now it's all coming together.

Hope you're back to normal very soon.

[dgm]

larry, eventually it alllllll falls into place. thanks for your well-wishes.

[margaret]

that was bad donna!!!! yuck !!! i got some real nasty hospital stories for ya some time...envolving er nurses , death sentences, feet and oh yeah.....stalker plastic sergeons....
later,
dr. margaret

[margaret]

that was bad donna!!!! yuck !!! i got some real nasty hospital stories for ya some time...envolving er nurses , death sentences, feet and oh yeah.....stalker plastic sergeons....
later,
dr. margaret

[Mama Mia]

Wow, what a completely unprofessional bunch of nurses. On behalf of my nursing colleagues I apologize profusely! Please do write that letter - it is the only way that things can improve.

[dgm]

mama mia, don't worry, i don't attribute this behavior to all nurses generally. i know lots of good one. sometimes i wonder why certain wicked people choose professions like nursing, doctoriing, childcare, teaching, and social work. thanks for your comment.