I started this post a month or two ago. Writing about my patients makes me feel guilty, like there is a profound imbalance in my life. I ask myself, how can I write more about my work than my kids?
My kids are wonderful! They are living wonderful lives. Elijah is in Africa, on a Safari and humanitarian aid trip. He and Claire already went to FSY a few weeks ago. Claire and Iris got back from Girls camp yesterday. Iris had swimming camp at BYU the week before. Sybil, Masha, and Mila had 3 weeks of school summer camp (English immersion for M&M).
And to top it all off, I have been struggling to navigate through a broken immigration system. People want to throw donations at refugees (especially clothes--lots and lots of clothes), but what they need more than anything is absolutely my most precious commodity: time. After several phone calls, internet searches, forms filled out, office visits to ICE and ISAP, Serhii is finally working for a trucking company (although we are still working on his official work permit). Last I heard, he was in Ohio.
This is my previous post that I felt guilty about posting a few weeks ago, but I'll preface it with one more story: 2 days ago I had a patient who slept most of the morning. Her pillow was dyed purple and blue by her bleeding hair dye. Her flake eyelashes were long and there were multiple piercings, track marks. I walked into her room at one point and didn't see her in bed. I peeked in the bathroom. A purple mop of hair was visible under the shower curtain. I freaked out, thinking she had fallen in the shower. No, just lying in the fetal position with towels covering her and the water running, with a pile of diarrhea in one corner. We went to change the sheets on her bed, only to find a container of heroin, a burnt metal spoon, an insulin needle, and other paraphernalia. I called security. She left soon after, saying we weren't properly treating her withdrawal symptoms. I got her a bus pass and walked her to the hospital entrance, and then watched her wobble at least 50 yards because I wasn't sure how far she'd be able to make it.
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I get constant reminders at work about the wisdom of the word of wisdom. I had a man this week who had PAD, PVD, AKA (above the knee amputation). He was a smoker and didn't want to quit.
A few weeks ago I had a patient who was going through withdrawal. He told me that when he opened his pepper packet, the pepper started walking across the table. He also continually talked to invisible people in the room. Later that day, I was in the room when the doctor was there. The patient had a moment of lucidity and was able to tell her his name, who the president was, and and the month. She told me she was doing to discontinue the order for his wrist restraints. I told her that wasn't a good idea because physical therapy deemed him a fall risk and he was seeing dancing pepper. She said, "I want to get him to rehab and he can't get there in restraints. He's A&O times 4." What happened next is a matter of debate. The doctor was fuzzy about whether she personally untied the restraints and the virtual sitter had gone on a bathroom break, so it couldn't be confirmed, but I had a patient on another hall and by the time I came back, the nurse's aid was cleaning up a puddle of blood
Another wonderful story: I was helping a woman adjust her legs, then torso, then socks, then pillow.
Finally she said, "Now I need you to help me fart."
"Ok," I replied, "how do I help you fart?"
"Squeeze my hand," she said.
"You're joking, right?" I said.
No hint of a grimace.
I squeezed her right hand.
No flatus.
"Now squeeze my other hand."
No flatus.
General Conference weekend! We picked up Elijah on Saturday night and then headed to the Provo Creamery. Fortunately for us, Elijah's fr...
