Bedside nurses have one of the toughest jobs. So why do we get stuck with some of the crappiest technology? I recently had the opportunity to orient to a job on a med-surge floor. Having not worked in a hospital for the past 7 years, I was a little surprised at the lack of basic technologies afforded to nurses at this hospital. Read more
Category: Nursing Stories
A Quiet (Loud) Voice in Nurse Blogging
I’ve been inconsistent about following nurse blogs lately. But last week the domain name for NurseRiver was up for renewal and I asked myself, is it really worth the money for the 4-5 people who visit it each week? I was leaning towards no, but then I came across Amanda Anderson’s post, “A Nurses Day Present: I Bought My Blog.” Read more
Memories of a Nursing School Weblog
I wrote this over on my fargo blog about a weblog I made in nursing school in 2004. It was basically the precursor to this blog.
I think my favorite part of the experience was this:
“I came across another professor showing the site to her class. “And look at this – you can click on the link and it shows you more information!!!” She seemed genuinely delighted to discover the concept of hyperlinks. And really – who wouldn’t be?”
It demonstrates how slow my nursing professors were to embrace new technologies. Read more
Back to the MICU, and back to Liverland
So this MICU shift was very difficult after all, and it wasn’t for the reasons that I suspected. I thought it would be the tasks that got me down, i.e. not enough time to get things done. Surprise, surprise, turns out it was the patients.
Imagine a patient with End Stage Live Disease. She currently has hepatic encephalopathy and suspected GI bleeding. She was recently extubated. They usually put an oral gastric tube in and then yank it out at the same time when the patient is extubated. But then the patient continues to have this hepatic encephalopathy, which is a Catch-22 because then she is unable to swallow her lactulose, (which would help to restore her mental status.)
You attempt placing a nasogastric tube, twice, both times unsuccessfully, both times with the patient screaming at the top of her lungs. So at the end of the day, her baseline mental status hasn’t returned, and you have no way of giving her nutrition or lactulose. But she isn’t sick enough to stay in the ICU so you transfer her to the floor.
Typical situation for this disease, I tell myself, and that’s just the way it is. But I feel so frustrated, and so helpless for two reasons. (1) I CAN’T GIVE THIS PATIENT HER LACTULOSE AND THAT IS THE ONE THING THAT WOULD MAKE HER BETTER and (2) Trying to place this NG tube when she is not mentally stable enough to cooperate is very traumatic to her. And inevitably, the docs will always order a lactulose enema out of desperation. GUESS WHAT? If your patient can’t swallow a cupful of medicine, you can be damn sure she won’t be able to retain a pint of lactulose IN HER BUTT. So that never works.
The weird thing is that even though I hadn’t worked since last August, I had the exact same patient scenario: Liver Failure, recently extubated, mentally, in liver land, and unable to swallow lactulose.
Is it a failure of our healthcare system?
Is it a failure of my nursing skills to place an NG tube?
Is it a failure of our normal routine to yank out the OG tube when extubating?
Is it a failure of medicine in that we have failed to discover a better way of reducing a patient’s ammonia level (which is what lactulose does)?
In the end it doesn’t really matter because it was a failure, and I left that day feeling like I had done nothing for my patient except cause discomfort, and transfer her to lower level of care.
One thing is for sure, I vow never to complain again about working at Chez Recovery. It took a shift back in the MICU to make me realize just how good I had it there.
Sick as Snot (or Not)
Last year I was talking to this doctor while I was still in nursing school and contemplating working in the MICU.
“Those patients are sick as snot,” she said.
I love that expression. It really paints a picture. I’m here to tell you, though, that it’s not entirely true.
There is one night nurse in particular that subscribes to that belief. She’s a traveler with many years of experience. She?s the one who I referred to earlier that always sprinkles her report with comments like, “This patient is really sick. The resident/intern is just chasing her tail. I don’t know what these doctors are trying to do, but they better do something.”
Now. The first time this happened, I was fresh out of orientation. I listened with my eyes and ears wide open. When she was finished these were my thoughts:
I’m about to take care of a really sick patient (crap).
The doctors don’t know what they’re doing (double crap!!!).
I don’t know what I’m doing (TRIPLE CRAP!!!).
Her overall attitude from the previous night had now set the tone for my day. So I tried to remain calm, get myself organized. One advantage that the day nurse has over the night nurse is this: We participate in AM rounds. This means that we give a nursing report to the team of docs (usually an attending, fellow, resident, intern and sometimes a pharmacist.) We listen to their plan of treatment, and the rationales behind everything. A list of daily goals for the patient is produced. It’s all very collegial and informative and it puts everyone on the same page of music.
So I begin a three day stretch with this patient, and I know what the plan is.
I am not seeing this patient in the same way as the night nurse. Yes, she is very sick. Isn’t everyone ‘very sick’ in the MICU? She is a lung transplant patient. That’s all you need to know to understand how sick she is. Lung transplants are some of the most complicated patients you can care for in the MICU. Two medications make them this way: Tacrolimus and Prednisone. One is an immunosuppressant. So it causes the patient to be immunocompromised. Fill in the blanks for what can go wrong there. The other is a corticosteroid. They can cause hyperglycemia, osteoporosis, and bleeding just to name a few of the lovely side effects. Then there’s the kidney failure associated with tacrolimus, and the ICU psychosis that always seems to hit lung transplant patients the hardest.
At any rate, when you spend three 12 hour days with a patient you are bound to see some changes. I actually saw her improve, at least enough to wake up and interact with her family members.
But now a seed has been planted in my brain. Is this nighttime nurse perhaps somewhat of an alarmist? Do I dare even think that way about someone who has twenty years experience over me? Am I perhaps not enough of an alarmist because I am not freaking out about how sick this patient is? Just some thoughts I had at that particular time.
Fast forward to 4 months later: I am getting report from the same night nurse on a different patient. This time the patient has (I’ll just name the top three diagnoses) chronic pancreatitis, myasthenia gravis, and respiratory failure (which is the main reason she’s in the MICU). But the report sounds identical to the lung transplant patient: “These residents don’t know what they are doing, this woman is so sick! This situation is dangerous!”
It’s amazing what 4 months can do. Because now I have reviewed my patient’s data, gone into the room to assess her, participated in AM rounds, and now the tone of my day is set by my own impressions, not by the night nurse’s.
And my impressions are this: Yes, this woman is extremely sick. No, the doctors can’t quite figure it out why she went in to respiratory failure in the first place. Am I flummoxed? No. I have a job to do. I will be spending the day with this patient. How will it help her if I get all frantic about how sick she is?
So I cared for this patient for three days and I watched her (and helped her I hope) get better. She went from being vented, sedated, and febrile to sitting up in bed, just a little supplemental O2, watching TV with her daughter. No, she’s not cured but at least she’s out of the woods and ready transfer to the floor, one step away from going home.
So I start to wonder, how much does the nurses demeanor/attitude/state of mind affect the patient’s ability to heal? I’ve always been of the belief that you get what you expect. With that in mind you can go to work expecting to have very sick patients that will eventually be healed (or perhaps not) or you can expect to have patients that are very sick and will just lay there hopeless in the MICU while the residents chase their tales. I choose to expect the former.
Then there is the other end of the continuum of experience. On the same three-day stretch I observed another nurse at work who is very fresh out of orientation. She was upset because she had a liver failure patient with multi-organ failure. She was frantic and frustrated. She felt that the docs weren’t listening to her on rounds. She felt like we weren’t doing enough for this patient. I asked her if the patient was being worked up for a transplant.
“No,” she said, “transplant is totally not an option.”
“Is there a family meeting scheduled?”
“Yes, this afternoon.”
“Well then don’t worry about it.”
“What? Don’t worry about it?”
“Yes, don’t worry about it. Your patient is in liver failure. They are going to die. Neither you, not the docs are going to fix anything. The best they can do is have the family meeting and explain this to the family. Just carry out what needs to be done and most importantly make sure she’s comfortable, make sure she’s sedated.”
(And sure enough, that is what happened. Family meeting occurred, family decided to withdraw care, and the patient passed away in peace.)
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not just sitting there all blase in the nurses station drinking coffee thinking, why bother, all these sickies are going to die anyway. Hey you over there with the fatty liver! Quit yer whining or you’ll be getting another lactulose enema! Far from it. I work my butt off for each and every one of my patients. Maybe I’ve just been told so many times that in the MICU “these patients are the sickest of the sickest” and ‘you will see many deaths here,” to the point where, now that I’m here, it’s not quite the death bed that everyone’s made it out to be. I see people get better. It happens every day.