Public Service Announcement: Drunk Driving Edition

If you're going to try to drive home drunk from the bar, do not run into the bar's Dumpster when backing out of the parking space. Especially if there's a cop parked behind the Dumpster waiting for closing time.

If you're going to get caught drunk driving, don't try to get out of going to jail by using a medical condition that can be verified with a little bitty prick of the finger. "I need to go to the hospital, my blood sugar is low," actually translates to, "I'm drunk, my glucose is 110, and maybe the cops will forget about me if I get into this ambulance."

When the cops decide to write you a citation and forego the trip to jail since we're gonna babysit your dumb ass until you're sober, don't sneak out while nobody's looking and take off down the street. We'll just call the cops, and guess what? Public Intox will send you straight.... you guessed it. To jail.

Don't mess with the IRS

So this guy in Louisiana declared himself an "Ambassador and Citizen of the Kingdom of Heaven under its King Jesus the Christ", which supposedly gave him diplomatic immunity from federal jurisdiction and meant he didn't have to pay his taxes.

He's been sentenced to 2 1/2 years in prison and owes Uncle Sam over $150K.

So much for that.

Who Dat?

Earle Hagen died on Monday. You might remember him from this.



One of my three favorite tunes to whistle in the ER at 0300.

These are the other two.

I don't care how expensive food gets....

....for me, this is not a solution.

Ew.

Beating a Dead Horse

Though I agree that fibromyalgia has gotten way too much discussion here in the last couple of weeks, I just found a diatribe by a fibromyalgeur that I had missed, and wanted to share.

It made me laugh out loud.

As did her magic wish and her desire to remain on narcotics forever.

I have a feeling this one's gonna start hitting the ER for some Dilaudid pretty soon.

A Query

On what planet is is acceptable to use the ambu-bags in all 5 cardiac/trauma rooms over the weekend and not re-stock any of them when the rooms become vacant?

Not this planet. The supply room is a loooooooong way from the coding guy in room 4. Forgetting one room is understandable. Forgetting all 5 is not.

Remember....

....those who have died for our freedom.

A Tip for the Rabble-Rousers in my Town

We all know that God created bars so that single men might have a place to drink. And He created Friday nights so that they might have a time to go to those bars, just like Sunday is for going to church.

Now, everybody knows that sometimes a man might have a bit too much to drink, and may act like a fool or do something dumb, and it's okay, because it's not his fault. It's the alcohol. So of course it's forgiven.

Something dumb like starting a fight in said bar.

Which causes the patrons (and bouncers) at said bar to beat the ever-loving hell outta you. With fists, bottles, and even a barstool.

Which leads to you stumbling out the door in fear for your life and collapsing against your very nice car in the parking lot.

Where a Good Samaritan asks you if you are okay, and when he gets no reply in the affirmative, helps you into your very nice car and drives you across town to the Emergency Room.

Where he pulls up into the ambulance bay and frantically asks for help, and offloads you into our very capable (and now very bloody) hands for care.

And then drives off in your car.

So here's the tip, Rabble-Rousers: Put your mama on speed-dial.

That way, you can call her from the bar after you get beat up, and she can take you to the hospital and stand around in an indignant huff because somebody beat up her baby.

Or, she can come pick you up at the hospital after you get fixed because somebody stole her baby's car.

Or, she can come pick you up at the County Jail when you get arrested for possession when the nurses happen to find a large quantity of a certain controlled substance in your pocket while the police are questioning you about the bar fight.

In any case, you're gonna need your mama.

YouTube to the rescue

I'm working all week. No time to blog. But here's two things that made me laugh yesterday.

Attitude Adjustment

It has been pointed out to me that the reason that I am burned out could very well be that I am focusing on the negative instead of the positive. So in an attempt to counteract the cloud of negativity that seems to be following me, I have compiled the following:

Six things that I love about my job

1. The look that little old ladies give me when I give them a blanket fresh out of the blanket warmer. It's amazing to me that a warm blanket has the same effect on a little old lady as 1 mg of Dilaudid has on a drug seeker.

2. That rush of adrenaline that I get when we get the first look at the EKG of a STEMI. Yes, I'm a dork. I love STEMIs. That tombstone gets my blood flowing like nothing else. Well, at work, anyway.

3. When floppy, listless babies turn into normal, crying babies with the help of some Tylenol, Motrin and and a fluid bolus or two. Some people think that the sound of babies crying is bad. I disagree. Crying babies are music to my ears. It's the ones that don't cry that make me nervous.

4.*POP*SNAP*SNAP*SNAP*!!!!!! The fact that I love it when belligerent drunks get tazed in my ER doesn't make me a bad person, does it?

5. When I get an IV on someone that's already been stuck 10 times. Because now that poor, sick person can get some medicine to help them feel better...... No, not really. It's an ego thing. I admit it.

6. The sound that the automatic door makes as it closes behind me on my way home. Sorry guys. If you're looking for something deep and meaningful, this is not the blog for you.

Wow! I feel so much better! In fact, I think I can make it through the last three nights of my five night stretch now.

Thank goodness for the positive people. It gives me someone to focus my negativity on.

If all else fails, watch this. It'll put you in a good mood, guaranteed. Unless you're a sociopath, of course.

Damn Meme thingees

I've been tagged twice over the last couple of months, and in the middle of my burnout funk, I have forgotten who tagged me. Leave me a comment, and I'll link you. Sorry I'm retarded.

In honor of my burnout, I'm going to modify the meme. And so, for your reading pleasure:

Six things that are causing my burnout

1. Co-workers with no work ethic.
I know you think that you're working harder than you should be. But so are the rest of us. Stop making us carry your load as well as our own.

2. Equipment that doesn't work.
I understand that we are moving to a nice, new hospital in 3 weeks. In the meantime, the monitors don't work, the gurneys don't steer, there isn't a portable O2 tank within 15 miles, and I have to beg, borrow and steal freakin' Jelcos from the other floors because all of the stock is being moved over to the new facility. What about this facility for the next 3 weeks?

3. CYA medicine.
I get so tired of drawing Type and Screens and Blood Cultures and prepping for Abdominal CTs on patients that don't need them, simply because that is the way that our docs are forced to practice ER medicine in our new litigious and entitled society. Hey Doc? That little box that you checked on the order sheet equals 15 additional minutes of my time spent in this patient's room prepping for a test that we both know she doesn't need, as well as another hour and a half in the ER taking up a bed that I could really use for one of the 20 patients still waiting to come back.

4. Back pain and sore feet.
No, not the patient's, mine! My freakin' back is killing me. Right between my shoulder blades. And my feet hurt. I don't even get to sit for 2 seconds anymore.

5. Rudeness.
Can't you at least be polite as you waste everyone's time and money bringing your lazy Medicaid ass in on a 911 ambulance for dental pain? Why do you have to be so damn rude?

6. Demented and contractured little old ladies with PEG tubes.
It should be a crime. 'Nuff said.

What's burning you out at work this week?

I *heart* Dilbert!

(click on it to make it bigger)

I don't get it.

Oscar Pistorius has been given permission to compete for a spot in the Olympics.

There are people that think that he shouldn't be allowed to compete because his blades give him an unfair advantage.

He is missing both of his legs below the knees.

I am of the opinion that if something provides an advantage in sports, then other people will try to do it to get an edge over the competition, no matter how dangerous it is. (ie: steroids)

I think that the Court of Arbitration for Sport has set a dangerous precedent. It won't be long before runners all over the world start cutting off their legs in order to run faster. Be alert. You may see these patients in your ER when their black-market or home amputation goes bad.

Anonymous internet angst

Some of you were around for the strange affair of "The Dawn". She created a blog just to tell the world how much she hated me because I was an evil nurse. She took it down after much fun.

Now there is "Busymom345". She's a fibromyalgeur who has created a blog just to tell the world what an evil nurse I am. You know, because I don't believe in fairies and fibromyalgia and such.

That's two blogs that have been created so far just to talk about what an evil nurse I am. Created, of course, by people who don't know me. But that's totally beside the point.

How many people on the internet hate you?

It's Fibromyalgia Awareness Day!!!!

In case you didn't see last year's post, check it out. There is a plethora of helpful links to assist you in managing your fake disease.

After working my ass off for the last 3 nights, I'm going to take my exhausted and sore feet, neck, back, arms and legs outside into the sunshine to work in the yard for a few hours. Then I'm going to come inside and take some *gasp* Motrin, and relax for the evening. I'll prolly even drink a beer or two. It's not the same as going to the ER for narcotics, but it'll have to do.

What are YOU doing to celebrate Fibromyalgia Awareness Day?

Happy Mother's Day!

Not just to my Mom, (though especially to my Mom) but to all of you moms who visit my little corner of the blogosphere.

Being a Mom is hard work. Each and every one of you have my utmost respect.

Pain Scale Dichotomy

Whiny 22 year old female on her period, c/o cramps, rates pain as a 10/10
= 1 mg Dilaudid IV.

Stoic 87 year female with broken hip after falling at home, rates pain as a 4/10
= 2 mg Morphine IV.

WTF?

Disgusting

Does anyone else find the amount of money wasted by campaigning politicians nauseating?

Think of what you could do with $860 million. And that's just for president. The Senate and House campaigns raised another $715 million. For a total of $1.6 billion.

That's enough to run Feed the Children for 3 1/2 years.

That's enough to run St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital for 3 1/2 years.

That's enough to run Habitat for Humanity for over 5 years.

That's enough to run The Breast Cancer Research Foundation for 44 years.

That's enough to run The Intrepid Fallen Heroes Fund for 38 1/2 years.

That's disgusting.

Blue

They wheel around the corner to the trauma bay, where the three of us are waiting. Bright yellow Stryker with a black mattress, blue and black Zoll at the foot, O2 tank with the green canvas cover.

Mabel is standing on the side of the gurney as they wheel in, doing compressions as the medic squeezes the ambu-bag. I meet her eyes across our patient.

"Ready?" she says.

I nod.

She lets go and steps back. I reach over and wrap my hands around the tiny body, continuing CPR with my thumbs as I lift him from the gurney to the infant warmer.

I know immediately that our efforts will be in vain. He is too cold, too stiff, too blue.

But we do it anyway. Because he's only 6 weeks old.

Lucy takes his temp. "Core temp of 89.6, doc," she says.

Doc shakes his head. They've got an IO established, but we need an airway. He's holding the miniaturized laryngoscope in one hand as he looks for the chords. In the other is an equally miniature ET tube.

He and his wife will be having a baby next weekend. I wonder what he's thinking. If he's thinking.

"Tube's in." RT connects the BVM and starts ventilating again. She puffs his little lungs for him as I pump his little heart for him.

I feel the cold of his skin under my hands and the warmth of the heat lamp on my arms. I try to will some of my heat into him.

"Another round of Epi," says Doc. Mabel reaches for one of the syringes she made up when we heard they were coming.

I squeeze my thumbs and fingers together over and over, circulating the drug as she flushes it through the line.

My forearms are cramping. I ignore it. An alarm sounds and a robotic voice intones, "Check patient." I can see the monitor over Lucy's shoulder. It looks like we have a rhythm.

"Hold CPR," says Doc.

The deflections turn to a straight line. It was just me. I was only fooling myself.

"Resume CPR."

I start to feel a burning behind my eyes. Reality is rearing its ugly head.

Doc squirts the ultrasound gel on the tiny chest. The transluscent blue shines on his pale, pale skin. I do compressions in between each look at his tiny heart. The gel squishes around my thumbs.

"Stop CPR."

We all wait for the words. We know they are coming.

"No cardiac activity on the monitor. No cardiac activity on ultrasound. There's nothing else we can do. Time of death: 0316."

We stand there for a minute looking at the tiny body in front of us. Then we start disconnecting leads and lines.

We swaddle him in blanket, leaving only his face showing. I think to myself that our blankets aren't soft enough to wrap a baby in. The tube sticks out of his mouth, reminding us that there will not be a happy ending to this story.

Sometimes you know that there was nothing you could have done.

It doesn't make it any better.

*snerk*

Have a nice weekend.

Quote of the Night

"Since you're taking all that blood, can you see if the doctor will do a test to check if I have fibromyalgia? I think I do."

I'll allow you to use your imagination and picture her age, size, activity level, employment status, "health insurance" provider, and narcotic of choice.

Public Service Announcement: Healthcare Edition

If you are doing really good CPR, and your compressions look like V-Tach on the monitor, and your patient has a pacemaker/defibrillator, you may just get shocked.

And it will hurt.

And your co-workers will laugh at you.