Feces in the Face

This one will be short only because it is truly the reason why nurses shouldn't wear white. Last week, while turning a rather...physically endowed patient, I experienced what I hope to be a singular event.

As the patient was turned on her side, I leaned in to be certain that I had adequately wiped her behind.

"Pfffffft," was all I heard as vile green poopie squirted from her heiney. It missed my nose by inches but got my gloves and scrubs in a most horrific fashion.

Please, Lord, let someone come up with a rectal pouch that actually works.

The Pregnant Lady and Percocet

The past two weeks, I've had a patient who is fifteen weeks pregnant. Very pleasant woman. Easy to talk to, doesn't ask much, if you compare her to the previously mentioned Precious (see previous blog).

She came in with a respiratory issue which quickly cleared. Then, magically, as she was about to be released back to her large home, husband, and three children under the age of five, she developed wicked headaches. Headaches that required that a fifteen week pregnant woman take 2 mg Dilaudid every three hours and 2 tabs of Percocet every four hours...around the clock. You could set your watch by her pain meds. In addition, she occasionally took Tylenol #3 (codiene), and Robitussin. Her baby will enter the world needing rehab.

Despite her sweetness, I felt like a fly on sticky tape with each answer of the always-on-time call bell ring. I am uncertain as to whether the phenomena of being unable to cluster requests exists soley in hospitals can be researched and documented but I am certain it does, in fact, exist inside the not-so-sterile walls of my hospital.

Each call bell was met with an 8/10 headache, much conversation (on her part), and requests for half ginger ale, half cranberry juice, light on the ice, please. "Is there anything else?" I learned to ask. No, she said. But, as research would pan out, I was met with a request to refresh her multiple ice bags (for her head). These requests were difficult to hear over her blaring television. The Democratic National Convention was in full swing and apparently she didn't want to miss a word. I could easily follow the speeches from across the hall in the med room where her mythical personal supply of drinks and snacks were located. Again, I would ask if there was anything else. I could see her eyelashes blinking rapidly behind her sunglasses when she realized she needed new pillow cases, or towels, or whatever other wish she desired. No doubt she was OCD. Every entrance to her room was met with requests of three.

I am certain she had some pain, but it was difficult to ascertain the true level of pain when she was eating the freezer clear of ice cream meant to be shared among the entire floor of patients. After two days our pantry was similar to Old Mother Hubbard's. She had a tough time chatting while shoveling in pints of ice cream in Olympic Record fashion.

Every single nurse on the floor was astounded that she was emphatic to take both Percocet and Dilaudid IV exactly on time around the clock for two weeks straight. The baby will probably have an affinity for tye dye.

Although she was a wonderful conversationalist, it was difficult to continually administer meds that no matter what any doctor said, I would have refrained from taking while pregnant myself. I truly liked this patient. I just have to wonder if her infant will emerge grasping for the pill administration cup.