The normal patient load on my particular unit for my shift is 5-6 patients per nurse.
One shift, I started with six patients. Four units of blood, two blown IV sites, one home care set-up, and two late discharges later, it was an hour after the "end" of my shift and I was just beginning my charting. I clocked out about 2.5 hours after shift change.
My next shift (a few days later), I started with four patients. By a few minutes after 9, I had passed all their morning medications and charted all my assessments. When a new patient transferred to my unit, I tucked him in, charted on him, and made the appropriate calls. I had time to eat lunch. I had time to pump.
It's amazing what a difference one or two patients can make!
Another thing that made that latter shift stand out in my mind is that that was the day I was asked to precept a capstone nursing student this semester. (I gladly accepted.) Can't wait!
Monday, September 10, 2012
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Advice From a Patient
"Listen, honey. Get yourself a boyfriend, and have as many kids as you can. That way, you'll have someone to take care of you when you're old like me."
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Compliments
I round the corner with a patient's breakfast tray, headed to put it with the other dirty ones. A visitor lingers behind me.
"Your hair is really pretty."
I am perplexed by this approach, but thank him, and continue on my way.
He keeps going.
"The color is just, wow, and I like the way you have it up in that ponytail. It looks really nice. I saw it earlier and wanted to make sure I said something."
I excuse myself, head to the nearest med room (which has a lock on the door) and call the charge nurse to find out who he is and whether I should be calling security.
Her verdict: sweet
Mine: creepy
What say you?
"Your hair is really pretty."
I am perplexed by this approach, but thank him, and continue on my way.
He keeps going.
"The color is just, wow, and I like the way you have it up in that ponytail. It looks really nice. I saw it earlier and wanted to make sure I said something."
I excuse myself, head to the nearest med room (which has a lock on the door) and call the charge nurse to find out who he is and whether I should be calling security.
Her verdict: sweet
Mine: creepy
What say you?
Monday, April 16, 2012
Dual Employment
"You have two jobs, Momma. You take care of people, and you take care of us."
She may not have figured out yet what she wants to be when she grows up, but her assessment of what I do is right where I hope to be!
She may not have figured out yet what she wants to be when she grows up, but her assessment of what I do is right where I hope to be!
Friday, April 13, 2012
Process of Elimination
"Oh, no, Momma!" says the 4 1/2 year old.
"What's the matter, darling?"
"I don't know what I want to be when I grow up!"
"Oh, that's ok, honey. You don't have to know that right now." (I was nearly 22 when I figured it out for myself.)
She starts ticking them off on her fingers, "Ice skater? No. Fire fighter? No. Police? No."
Sometimes you have to know what you don't want to figure out what you do want, right? She's on her way!
"What's the matter, darling?"
"I don't know what I want to be when I grow up!"
"Oh, that's ok, honey. You don't have to know that right now." (I was nearly 22 when I figured it out for myself.)
She starts ticking them off on her fingers, "Ice skater? No. Fire fighter? No. Police? No."
Sometimes you have to know what you don't want to figure out what you do want, right? She's on her way!
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Compassion
I take a deep breath. Exhale slowly.
Comfort care.
New milestone in my nursing career.
Knock softly. Push the door open. Introduce myself to the family.
Patient unresponsive. Introduce myself to him anyway. They say hearing is one of the last senses to go, don't they? Might as well include him as much as possible in his own care.
I have other patients to tend to, but I try to check in on that patient and his family more frequently than I might normally.
What can he sense? Does he know where he is? Does he know his children are by his side? Is he comfortable? Does he feel loved?
I've known the family for six hours, and I already know more about this patient and his relationship with his children than I do about some others I've had all week. He is fiercely independent. He looks out for his children. He is well-prepared. He has a great sense of humor. He will be missed.
I enter the room with small doses of medications to keep him comfortable. I check the identification and clean off the IV site. Before I give it, I notice his breathing has changed. I put aside the syringes and pick up my stethoscope. His peripheral pulses, which had been decent when I first came on shift, are now difficult to detect. His breathing is labored. I don't have to use the stethoscope to realize that his heart is going into ventricular fibrillation.
I make eye contact with his daughter. "He's close," is all I need to say. I quietly step out. As I close the door behind me, I can hear his children sob.
A hug and condolences. Is that all I have to offer this grieving family? I can only hope that my attempts at gentle care of their dying father will help them eventually look back on this time peacefully.
May I not walk away from this experience unchanged. May God grant me the foresight to value my relationships with my own family. May I remember to work a little less, and hug my girls a little more. May my family always know how much I love them, not only in what I say, but in how I treat them. May I treat all my patients with the dignity, compassion, and gentleness they deserve. And someday, when I am on the other side of the equation, may the nurse taking care of me or my family member do the same.
Comfort care.
New milestone in my nursing career.
Knock softly. Push the door open. Introduce myself to the family.
Patient unresponsive. Introduce myself to him anyway. They say hearing is one of the last senses to go, don't they? Might as well include him as much as possible in his own care.
I have other patients to tend to, but I try to check in on that patient and his family more frequently than I might normally.
What can he sense? Does he know where he is? Does he know his children are by his side? Is he comfortable? Does he feel loved?
I've known the family for six hours, and I already know more about this patient and his relationship with his children than I do about some others I've had all week. He is fiercely independent. He looks out for his children. He is well-prepared. He has a great sense of humor. He will be missed.
I enter the room with small doses of medications to keep him comfortable. I check the identification and clean off the IV site. Before I give it, I notice his breathing has changed. I put aside the syringes and pick up my stethoscope. His peripheral pulses, which had been decent when I first came on shift, are now difficult to detect. His breathing is labored. I don't have to use the stethoscope to realize that his heart is going into ventricular fibrillation.
I make eye contact with his daughter. "He's close," is all I need to say. I quietly step out. As I close the door behind me, I can hear his children sob.
A hug and condolences. Is that all I have to offer this grieving family? I can only hope that my attempts at gentle care of their dying father will help them eventually look back on this time peacefully.
May I not walk away from this experience unchanged. May God grant me the foresight to value my relationships with my own family. May I remember to work a little less, and hug my girls a little more. May my family always know how much I love them, not only in what I say, but in how I treat them. May I treat all my patients with the dignity, compassion, and gentleness they deserve. And someday, when I am on the other side of the equation, may the nurse taking care of me or my family member do the same.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Spirit of Nursing
This week has helped me remember why I love nursing.
Patients and their family members remembered me (and my name) even when I'd been off for a day or two. They were glad to see me. They vented to me. They reached out for hugs. They called me their angel.
One of the aides told another aide she liked working with me.
Good days at work make it easier to leave the girls in the care of near-strangers at the crack of dawn.
Patients and their family members remembered me (and my name) even when I'd been off for a day or two. They were glad to see me. They vented to me. They reached out for hugs. They called me their angel.
One of the aides told another aide she liked working with me.
Good days at work make it easier to leave the girls in the care of near-strangers at the crack of dawn.
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