Never Tell Me The Odds
Sometimes I forget that blogging makes me happy. It helps me stay connected to my family. Yes, blogger.com is a third-party provider of family togetherness. It's even better than Facebook, because no one (to date) has countered an opinion against any of my blog posts.
Today's blog post title is taken from a pin I gave myself from my boss's office after I stopped the water machine from forming a lake in the Patient/Family Lounge. The episode was quite exciting; gallons of water cascaded off of the counter from underneath the ice/water machine and soaked the drawers, the floor, and a bunch of towels we threw down. Unfortunately, unplugging the machine didn't stop the flow, but a custodian lady and I successfully removed a wooden panel covering the pipe works, and I pulled the lever to turn off the water. Nobody was offering me a gold star, so I picked out afore-mentioned pin from a tray of nursing trinket things our unit director had. I thought it applied, since nobody had told me the odds....
The other Hospital Event of Interest that I want to tell also involves water. And a patient who really wanted to shower. It was a Monumental Effort because she had 2 wound vacuum machines as well as 2 wound drainage bulbs and 2 peripheral nerve block wires (attached to 2 epidural pumps) coming off of her recently-amputated left leg. She also had a urinary catheter and a PICC (peripherally inserted central catheter=an IV that runs from the arm to right above the heart) infusing a PCA pain medicine and a blood-thinner drip. Also, her left hand didn't have great circulation. So that's 9 lines and 2/4 limbs compromised. And I decided, yep, we can get her to the shower.
Bad odds, right?
I got all of her pumps and lines hooked onto the IV pole or her walker, plastic-wrapped the heck out of her amputated leg to protect all of the dressings, and plastic-wrapped her arm where the PICC was while keeping her infusions going. Then I and the nursing assistant helped maneuver the IV pole in coordination with her hop-steps using the walker, and we made it the 5 feet to the bathroom. [At which point she decided she also had to pee, so we turned everything around in cramped quarters to allow her to sit on the toilet. That was actually the hardest part.] I got her to sit on the shower bench, and kept the IV pole outside the shower curtain, then handed her the shower sprayer and let her do her thing (although I helped with her back and backside). Then we got back to the bed, after I had dried her off as much as I could so that no one would be dripping and slipping.
Quite frankly, it's a miracle everything worked out. And a miracle that I remained dry. But there's still a lesson in this. You have to put in the work to get an opportunity for that miracle. You have to stretch a little into the unknown and hope it all works out. And you gotta trust that if things don't work out, the Guy in Charge still has your best interests at heart.
And it doesn't hurt to forgive that patient who accused you of not combing your hair that morning, and decide that she deserves a shower anyway.
Today's blog post title is taken from a pin I gave myself from my boss's office after I stopped the water machine from forming a lake in the Patient/Family Lounge. The episode was quite exciting; gallons of water cascaded off of the counter from underneath the ice/water machine and soaked the drawers, the floor, and a bunch of towels we threw down. Unfortunately, unplugging the machine didn't stop the flow, but a custodian lady and I successfully removed a wooden panel covering the pipe works, and I pulled the lever to turn off the water. Nobody was offering me a gold star, so I picked out afore-mentioned pin from a tray of nursing trinket things our unit director had. I thought it applied, since nobody had told me the odds....
The other Hospital Event of Interest that I want to tell also involves water. And a patient who really wanted to shower. It was a Monumental Effort because she had 2 wound vacuum machines as well as 2 wound drainage bulbs and 2 peripheral nerve block wires (attached to 2 epidural pumps) coming off of her recently-amputated left leg. She also had a urinary catheter and a PICC (peripherally inserted central catheter=an IV that runs from the arm to right above the heart) infusing a PCA pain medicine and a blood-thinner drip. Also, her left hand didn't have great circulation. So that's 9 lines and 2/4 limbs compromised. And I decided, yep, we can get her to the shower.
Bad odds, right?
I got all of her pumps and lines hooked onto the IV pole or her walker, plastic-wrapped the heck out of her amputated leg to protect all of the dressings, and plastic-wrapped her arm where the PICC was while keeping her infusions going. Then I and the nursing assistant helped maneuver the IV pole in coordination with her hop-steps using the walker, and we made it the 5 feet to the bathroom. [At which point she decided she also had to pee, so we turned everything around in cramped quarters to allow her to sit on the toilet. That was actually the hardest part.] I got her to sit on the shower bench, and kept the IV pole outside the shower curtain, then handed her the shower sprayer and let her do her thing (although I helped with her back and backside). Then we got back to the bed, after I had dried her off as much as I could so that no one would be dripping and slipping.
Quite frankly, it's a miracle everything worked out. And a miracle that I remained dry. But there's still a lesson in this. You have to put in the work to get an opportunity for that miracle. You have to stretch a little into the unknown and hope it all works out. And you gotta trust that if things don't work out, the Guy in Charge still has your best interests at heart.
And it doesn't hurt to forgive that patient who accused you of not combing your hair that morning, and decide that she deserves a shower anyway.
You are a superwoman! Caring and capable all combined!
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