btp is a teacher now

bob did you remember to pick up detergent?

It has been several days and no, I have yet to get any laundry detergent.

Mainly this is because I have been doing things involving a friend's wedding, so I really just wore the rental tux and I had the past three days off from work so no real complaints there I guess.

The main reason detergent is so important is because I only have 2 pairs of scrubs, one of which is vastly superior to the other (more pockets, has a zipper, doesn't try to fall off me all day long), but I am able to get a surprising amount of filth and potential filth on these clothes so daily washings are critical to not feeling/being disgusting.

Though really the most nasty things are the bottoms of my shoes and those never really get washed.

DON'T LICK YOUR SHOES GUYS.

Also never never eat off of or lay down on a hospital floor. You would think that because it is a hospital, and people go there to get better, they do their best to make everything super clean. THIS IS NOT TRUE.

FOR EXAMPLE. Say some confused old guy with Hep C pulls out his IV and starts walking around bleeding everywhere. (okay I don't know if he actually had Hep C but HE COULD HAVE)

So he goes and gets blood on his bed and floor, and in the hallway and whatever else he touches/leans against.

Sure, we wipe up the blood, even try to disinfect it with those little wipes that you're not supposed to touch with your hands because benzene and cancer or something, and yeah I mean maybe that works but in the end that initial cleaning is all it gets. There is no "deep clean" that the hospital staff does periodically. So anything that is left behind or missed stays there for a while.

OR lets say some tired Nursing Assistant ready to get off his shift and making some final rounds doesn't notice that some patient has placed their half-filled urinal bottle on the ground under the bed. And this same nursing assistant maybe kicks that over on accident and URINE EVERYWHERE.

That stuff is cleaned up with a towel. Possibly multiple, depending on the quantity of fluid.

There is nothing else applied to it. That towel is it and it is not some sort of magical anti-microbial towel. It is a regular white towel that I assume is clean because I don't get to see what goes into that part of the process.

Now sometimes they do come in with a mop. But that is mainly if the floor has reached a point where you step on it and you can FEEL IT HOLDING ON TO YOU. You pull your foot away with that *schliiiiip* sound and hope that it was just some sprite someone spilled. (and not the urine I kicked over on accident)

Either way, those shoes come home with me.

I HAVE PURCHASED DETERGENT.

Damn all these tiny responsibilities life makes us do/have.

Buy detergent, pay your car insurance, write grand battle posts, dodge questions about when you're going to pay your roommate-landlord, badger HR reps of prospective employers.

Sometimes we don't want to do these things. Sometimes we just want to curl up after a long day of cleaning elderly privates and watch the movie Slither on AMC.

TURNS OUT IT WAS A COOL MOVIE?

I mean it had Nathan Fillion in it and aliens and zombies and a cameo from that girl in the office (Jessica Fisher?) Also inappropriately (very appropriatly) placed country music. Also I only watched the end so that probably made it better.

This is not what I got on here to talk about.

I got on here to talk about how in the hospital there are some patients that have people with them and some that do not have people with them. I like to think that I want to be one that would have people with them.

Let me be racist here (and by racist I mean point out a trend that I have noticed that appears to be correlated with race...so I guess yes, that is racist) I have not yet seen an elderly asian person who is unattended by their families (or a hired caretaker). I am pretty sure this is a cultural thing (wow that sounds so much better than "racist" ..dammit bob stop typing that word) but anyway yes I think it is a good thing. There are too many confused elderly men and women in the hospital who only have a visit from a single concerned family member for like one or two hours a day. Then that person leaves and the disoriented ill person is like "oh where is so-and-so? Will they be here? are they outside?" And I have to say "oh they are home. You are in the hospital. No I can not drive you home. No stay in bed. I am sure they will be here tomorrow (I am not sure)."

It is never a fun time.

Though today I saw something that was sweet. A very sick korean man was taken down for an hour long test, and his wife kept looking out the room for him and pacing around.

She came to me and said, "when will he be back" and I guessed based off what someone had told me (turned out I was wrong and she got worried (moreso) which of course makes you feel bad). Then later she went to me and asked: "do you think he is cold?"

I wanted to hug that lady...also maybe be a little frustrated with her?

There is a crazy mix of compassion/frustration that is really it's own emotion that you get when working in a hospital. It needs it's own name. ... Okay I spent 30 seconds trying to think of a name and got nothing so moving on.

anyway I consoled her and assured her that there would be people there and yes the gel for the ultrasound is a little cold but nothing to worry about. I guess she appreciated it because she gave me a hug later. (see: why I still go to this job). Anyway everything worked out...well except the guy is still sick and in the hospital and starting to get more swollen I think and possibly has C.diff but yeah...little victories.

So yes I have some new and reasonably priced detergent cleaning my clothes now. It is good.

I will probably keep rambling about things but I guess if you read all of this (dear god) then you are free to ask something which will probably guide my ramblings? Like, "have you killed a man?" answer: possibly.

But yes this is a fun way to spend my 3am.

btp can I suggest "respect" for new emotion because that's what it sounds like!

There are few things as exhausting as arguing with a crazy person.

I'm not sure "respect" is really the right word for that compassion/frustration mixture that you get when working with patients. Don't get me wrong, respect (both kinds) is SUPER important when dealing with people.

You have your "admiration" sort of respect (less common) that you get when you find out something about a person, either by word of mouth or by actually seeing it. Like the cranky old jewish guy who complained about everything and made me run all the way to the cafeteria because the soup here isn't "fit for pigs to eat" but then you find out that he was born in germany and left after WW1 for the US and then marched against them on D-day and suddenly he is an old man who can say whatever the heck he wants because if anyone has earned it he has. (Then later you find out he's actually a pretty funny guy, and that he appreciates it when people put up with him, and you hate your job just a little less.)

But then there's the basic respect that you give people just for being human. That basic set of principles that you figure people should be able to live with. Respect for life, privacy, decency, not-rolling-in-your-own-feces, the sort of thing that forms the baseline for what people deserve separate from who they are or what they've done. That kind of respect is flat out fundamental.

But the "compassion/frustration" phenomenon is the sort of thing that happens where someone says/does/has something happen to them that gives you a simultaneous multi-layered response.

Like, lets say you're eating in a restaurant and you're actually pretty hungry. The server introduces herself and is nice though a little shy because it's actually her first day on the floor by herself (this is just an example - though I do have a decent amount of restaurant related stories for the nine-months I worked at a seafood place but anyway). Anyway she takes your order and is cheerful and double checks what you want on your salad and which sides are right and sure she can see if the kitchen can grill instead of fry that for you. She delivers your drinks promptly and sets everything in the right place, though you can tell that she's getting a little overwhelmed by the stress of being on her own. She tells you your food should be ready in 10-15 minutes, which is a little longer than you'd like because you are actually quite hungry now but that's okay things take time. Then after those 10 minutes of chewing on salteens and eyeing other people's food you see her walk out of the kitchen with a tray full of all your sweet smelling delicious orderings.

And then she drops the whole thing.

This is where "compassion/frustration" hits you. At the exact same moment two different regions of your brain think the exact same thought. "Oh no, she dropped the tray!" The compassion part of this adds "She must be so upset about this, poor thing." while the frustration part adds "Now I how much longer do I have to wait to eat?"

It's that sorry for her vs. sorry for yourself sort of thing that defines how you feel, and really, that sort of feeling isn't restricted to hospital work - but I think it is featured much more prominently.

Both parts think: "Oh no, this old man shat his bed." But one part adds: "I feel so sorry for him." and the other adds "Now I have to clean up more shat."

Or: "Oh no, the bottom of this lady's bedside commode has fallen out due to the weight of the sheer amount of excrement she has placed in it." Followed by: "She is so embarrassed and almost in tears." also "Damn this is a huge amount of mess to wipe up with a towel." Also "some reason this situation is actually kind of funny"

Or in the case of the worried asian wife: "Oh she is worried for her husband." "That is so sweet." "When will she stop asking me these pointless questions."

Fortunately respect is there to keep you in line.

Though when you're working with the demented, its a much different dynamic.

Today there was an elderly lady in my group that I had seen before. She had very bad hearing, and wasn't altogether there. She had a case of pneumonia which I think contributed to her dementia - though I don't know for sure.

Anyway she had recognized me from her last trip to the hospital - her daughter also recognized me and complemented me (which is something I really don't know what to do with) on helping them out last time they were there and what not.

Well as the day progressed the daughter (who was probably over 60 herself) decided she needed to head home to get dinner and a good night's rest after a long day of caring for her mother. This was in the evening.

There is a term you will probably hear after working in a hospital for a little bit of time: "Sundowners". It's a term that will catch you off guard and will leave you unsure of its meaning until you meet someone who is a "sundowner". Essentially, for whatever reason, when staying in a hospital, some elderly patients become very confused after sundown. They'll start squirming and screaming and get violent to different degrees but there is almost a universal theme to their confusion: They want to go home.

Keep in mind that these are often times people who will collapse on the floor if they try to stand up at all. For this just keep in mind that, for hospitals (and really anywhere), FALLS = VERY BAD. But these patients will forget where they are and what they can do. They'll be driven by this idea that they are not where they should be and that they are being held against their will. (which is actually very true) If you try and remind them of where they are or what is going on, they'll continue to invent reasons and delusions (or simply ignore you), all focused around the idea of GOING HOME.

So tonight, I was doing whatever it was I was doing when I heard the bed alarm for this lady's room go off. A few times. I knew this was a bad sign. Compassion/Frustration kicked in with the realization that she was probably wanting to leave, and trying to get out of bed. When I finished with what I was doing (oh yeah I was helping a behemoth patient back into bed - moving fat people is hard guys). I headed over to the room to find (no wait I was changing an elderly woman who was being sent home that evening, and then checking her vitals and then the nurse came in and then I headed over to the room to find) one of the other PCA's (Nurse Assistants, orderlies, ass-butlers) sitting with/holding back that patient.

Now she had already managed to pull out her IV and take off her oxygen and she was demanding to call her home. One thing I had learned from watching more experienced nurses take care of confused patients was that first impression is important. But I did this wrong. I let compassion overrule my actions here and went to her and yelled "kindly" in her good ear. "Do you remember me?"

She nodded yes. and asked in her trembling voice if I could help her call her home.

Now I really did not want to. See last time I let a "Sundowner" call their home they ended up seriously upsetting the person on the other end. Because, they tend to be very confused and even when they get to talk to the person they're trying to get a hold of, the GO HOME theme kicks in and anyone who isn't letting them go home or leave or who-knows-what is suddenly an "enemy".

This lady called me an "enemy" a lot tonight.

"I thought you were a friend, but you turned into an enemy" repeated multiple times by a near crying old woman pleading with you can really wear you down.

The other PCA helping me out had clearly passed the "compassion/frustration" line and asked me if I wanted to take the shoulders and she'll take the legs and we'll drag her back into bed. I wasn't quite ready for that yet. (It took a good five minutes of talking in circles with this lady - who devoutly clutched an extension plug, and couldn't recall her home phone number, and whose blood pressure was getting super high, to let me finally decide to pull her up by, well force.) After getting ready and pulling her up and of course her getting back up and such, I told the other PCA to go take care of her patients and I'll keep an eye on this lady.

Thus began the most exhausting half hour of the night.

I'm actually really tired right now, and having difficulty recalling all the details. But basically, during the course of all that, I began to realize that what this patient needed wasn't compassion, but direction, though I didn't know how to provide that.

Then the charge nurse came in.

Is it wrong if I think of the dog-whisper when I think of the way the charge nurse handled this lady? Walk in, FLIP ON ALL THE LIGHTS. Suddenly you are important, you have authority, LIGHTS COME ON WHEN YOU WALK IN. Then "Calm Assertive Dominance". There was no pleading or arguing or compassion or frustration. "Get back in bed." Spoken while moving her. Choice was taken away and with that the conflict was resolved. Tell her you'll call the daughter. DON'T DO IT. DON'T BRING IT BACK UP. Just say the words and she forgets and is that more compliant. Tell her to sleep until morning. Make sure she stays there for a moment. Then walk out. FLIP SOME LIGHTS OFF. but not before making sure the alarm is on so you know just when she starts moving again.

That alarm went off a couple of more times, but I followed the nurses' lead. Walked in. Moved her. Walked out. Once she saw me walk in and actually started to pull the covers back over her. It made me a little sad because I guess that means she was afraid of me? but she stayed in bed, and didn't fall and didn't get hurt and hopefully

she'll like me again in the morning.

Dang Bob, I hope you continue with this thread, it is the most enjoyment I've thus far received from reading about other people's lives (probably because it is loads more insightful than the standard other person's, such as myself).

If you had a blog, you'd make millions.

As for compassion/frustration, maybe just make a portmanteau?

Compasstration or frustrassion immediately come to mind, but with the help of a thesaurus, you could even call it benevoloyance!

Yeah, all three of those are terrible.
(Spoiler alert I kind of like the last one anyway)

Man tgs, that's a super nice thing to say. I had to make sure to not write anything for a day to let my ego deflate (okay also its been SUPER BUSY but yes thanks).

Compasstration sounds like something horrible you could do with a compass. I also like benevoloyance - but I have tried several times to pronounce it and no luck so far. "ben-ev-o-la-noy-ance" is what I'm stuck on but it doesn't look right. I do this with a lot of words with tricky spellings, or just slightly more convenient pronunciations. To this day I still call "sfou" "So-foo". Though is he even on these boards?

I'unno.

I guess to follow up with "sundowner" lady, (though I suppose this is more sad/humorous than introspective) on thanksgiving her daughter did not show back up - which kind of sucked because I had told her (the lady) that she (the daughter) would (return in the morning) multiple times the previous night, but hey I guess that's the risk you take (when you promise old people things you don't know anything about).

(I just went back and read that sentence and realized there were a lot of words of clarification left out. I will now add them via parenthesis.)

There was a small part of me that worried that something bad had happened to the daughter and that the lady was perhaps having some sort of terrifying confused motherly premonition last night. (She had said, "I need to call home. It is an emergency. Why won't you let me call home?" and variations on that several times). I frequently have batches of these obscure bouts of paranoia (wow that sounds way more serious than it really is) but I frequently choose to ignore them - because there be dark roads.

Okay I am going to say this because I am tired and it is on my mind since odd paranoia's have come up.

I am afraid of tiny oranges.

Specifically mandarin oranges.

It's not that I don't like them...or that I think there is anything bad about them specifically...I just can't bring myself to trust them. I frequently do this with things that I haven't heard of but are suddenly VERY POPULAR with the people I know. I think one day my mom brought these TINY ORANGES home from the store and all my sisters started eating them and loving them and then she kept buying them and I was like WHY ARE THESE INVADING MY HOME? WHY ARE THESE SMALL BUT SLIGHTLY SWEETER ORANGE SLICES HERE? They are round. They are not oranges. Also they are called Mandarin and I think at the time I had a general lack of knowledge and aversion to things from China (this was before I realized that chinese food is AWESOME)

BUT NOT THE ORANGES.

I'll eat them now if they're prepared for me or if someone is sweetly offering me theirs (as Alice has done on occasion -- though I think she may have just done so because she knows it makes me uncomfortable) but I will not buy them from stores and I will tend to avoid selecting items that they are present in.

ANYWAY SO this lady's daughter was not there and I went in to meet with the lady. I was very apprehensive at the time, since she didn't really like me the previous night.

As it turned out I had nothing to worry about. She remembered me as a "friend" again and was probably just happy to see a familiar face (old ladies like company). She said she wanted to write me a note, so when I got some free time I grabbed some printer paper and a bic papermate (stupid there is one you took from work right here in front of you) pen and let her have at it.

This may have not been the best idea? I mean I don't think I specifically caused her to lose it again that night, just set forth the avenue she'd take.

I sat and talked with her for a bit. She said I was a very nice man and asked if I had a girlfriend (all these old ladies want to know if I'm single. Or married or have kids. So many aged matchmakers.) I told her yes. and she started to say she would introduce me to some nice ladies. I told her that was okay I am already set up in the lady department (but not with those words. that would have been confusing for her and awkward to shout in her ear).

So then later I take her blood pressure. It is getting late at night. She asks what the top number means (it was 157) I told her it was her blood pressure and that it was good (all things considered) and not to worry about it.

She wrote it down.

I came back later to the sound of the bed alarm going off.

There she was trying to get out of bed, the most worried look on her face. I asked her what was wrong, where are you trying to go?

With a fearful look she turned to me and said in her quivering voice.

"One Fifty Seven"

Oh. Shit.

"Yes. That's your blood pressure. That's okay. Lets go back to bed."

This is where I tried to move her while saying 'lets go back to bed'. Turns out it was doing it wrong? Maybe I didn't turn enough lights on, or maybe my timing was off. But when I pushed against her arm. (GENTLY PUSHED mind you. I am not mean to old ladies.) She shot this angry look at me. "Don't you push me! Are you this kind of person? Are you a hard headed person?"

I said that sometimes I have to be a bit hardheaded now lets go back to bed.

She didn't go back to bed at first. She wanted to leave the room, I distracted her with a quick trip to the bedside commode.

"I'm not going to introduce you to any ladies."

"That's okay. I already have a lady."

"You're hard-headed like your father."

I...I didn't say anything to that. I wouldn't describe my dad as hard-headed, and I have no idea who she thought she was talking to at that point, but you've got to pick your battles sometimes.

While she did her business and shot a few comments at me, I noticed that on her desk, there was the "157" written underlined and circled in shaky handwriting. I then looked a the folded up paper I had given her (or actually I think this was a new paper but not important) Among the things written on it was the same number repeated in scribbled unsteady handwriting, at dozens of angles and intervals over the sheet on both sides.

157 157 157 157 157

Something about seeing that creeped me out at first. What if this crazy old lady was on to something?

Wait. No.

That's stupid.

And with that thought, everything sort of fell into place. I wasn't worried so much about her anymore. Sure I wanted her to stay safe and have a peaceful night and not be afraid or worried about whatever the case was, but the subtle ridiculousness of it shed a nice revealing light on the whole thing.

Eventually, she would get tired and go to sleep. When she woke up she would stop worrying about some random number (she would not have a pen or paper in her room) and she would be happy and looking for company once again.

And maybe her daughter would show up.

I...actually don't know if she (the daughter) is okay or not.

I agree with the sparkly guy bob, your stories are the best.

I'm debating over what would be best, to have you as a grandpa so you'd tell me all kinds of stories, or being the grandpa myself and have you taking care of me.

bob go make a blog it would be pretty great

Okay so where is the blushing emote?
Is this it? I will assume that is it.

Really, though, I don't think a blog is the best place for me right now. I like the low-key ness of the thread, and ranting towards a close knit community of people sounds more appealing to me than the vast emptiness of the internet.

Of course I really don't know much about blogs.

I have other reservations too. Mainly that this last week or so, half of what I've done I've had this thought in the back of my mind: "How would I write about this?" I don't think that can be very healthy personally. Especially since I'm trying to get to a place where I can just up and leave the internet if need be.

Nothing personal internet. I just need to get to a good place right now. One where I see a sustainable future ahead of me.

But then again damn you guys are just too fun.


The other problem with thinking "how would I write about this" all the time is that it leaves me with dozens of possible avenues to take and I don't really know where to go. This sort of thing just needs to come out organically, and that's difficult when I have all these thought-fragments bouncing around that I want to get to.

Like, I want to say that I saw that one lady again. She had been discharged but she came back the next day. Sometimes people don't get better. Sometimes they get worse. She had gotten worse.

Not worse as in "more crazy" worse, but worse as in weaker and less present. Worse as in repeating the same statements all day and not just around nightime. Her daughter was okay though, but you could tell she was exhausted.

I really hope I don't see her in a hospital bed.

Or I could mention what the thread title is sort of referencing. That I'm in the process of quitting a project that I am being secretive about for some reason (which was probably dumb but whatever). but to finish it up I have to do a few things and I've contracted a nasty case of senioritis (not wanting to do something when you're almost done with it) regarding it. Which is a problem because I'm holding other people up and that's not something I want to do.


Or I could go off of Epamy's comment and talk about while funny it also reminds me of something kind of frightening. These last six months I've spent a disproportionate amount of time with a (hopefully) specific subset of the population, and I think it's made me have this dread that struggling about confused and in a hospital bed is what awaits everyone.

See I do this thing, that I guess other people don't do very much? but sometimes I'll pass someone or see them in a restaurant or any other varied passing interactions, and I think: "Maybe this person is Me/A friend from the future, or another point in my life, and they've come by to look at what I/they did now, or that in so many years I'll be coming back here and not even know that my past younger self was here."

It's sort of a weird take on the whole "identify with another person" thing that I guess other people do do very much? Like a "I wonder if I was in their shoes" or more recently for me "I hope I don't have to be there someday"

Aging is a scary thing guys. Especially when you see people you've known for a long time start to look like people you would have never associated them with.

Or like how, you can hang out with your friends and everything is fine and they really just look the same but then you look back at the kids that are the age that you were when you met your friends and they look like BABIES to you and then you suddenly realize that SOMEHOW you must look like the people who were your age back then did to you and it's kind of FREAKY. Both because it catches you by surprise but also because you now think that you have NO IDEA what you actually look like.

There is something in Romans(?) about the foolishness of a man who looks at himself in the mirror and then instantly forgets what he looks like...I think I do that a lot.

SpoilerShow

Edit spoiler! I didn't even thank you guys for your comments.

MUCH THANKS! Epamy i'd wipe your butt any day.



wow now i feel very uncomfortable.



IT IS STILL TRUE THOUGH.

Tired as I was, I read the thread title as "the means of reproduction and had to do a double take. Then I just decided to read it out of curiosity.

HELICOPTER CAT FINDS THIS ENJOYABLE

At work right now, here's a text I sent my friend a couple of months ago:

On the floor I work there are two nicer rooms called "signature suites". they're basically VIP rooms. Maybe it's because the cilentelle is more exclusive, but the rooms are normally vacant. I go in there when I need to fart.

So I have not done any christmas shopping. This is probably a bad thing, but I'm hoping the magic of 24 hour stores, gift cards, and electronic gifts will save me at the last minute.

That is probably not relevant to anything else. but hey there you go.

My job-hunt has come to a brief halt. I had an interview but then it was cancelled so that put me in a bit of a funk. I plan to get it going again after the holiday.

Actually there are a lot of things that I'm planning on doing "after the holiday", doctor's appointments (because I work for a hospital I guess I have insurance that is not terrible? It isn't great either, just average, and I don't have a lot of choices in where I go but whatever.), new years resolutions, habit changes and relationship building. Lots of things that I've just put on hold this week.

I realized something recently about making life changes. Things around you have to change.

okay that sounds stupid. Here's where I'm coming from.

I'm going to be 25 next year. Now I didn't really think about it too much until I heard someone mention recently: "Your impulse centers aren't fully developed until 25". I've heard variations on this statistic before. The age is different and the study it's based on changes, and it is most often used in the context of adults addressing or accusing younger adults of immaturity.

Like "oh you're gonna make bad choices because you aren't physically grown yet."

But for whatever reason the context behind hearing this psuedo-statistic this time was slightly different, and I was pretty terrified: "oh gosh. I'm almost 25. That means my impulse centers are almost fully developed. What does that mean for me?"

What it means, well more aptly what it could mean (and what scares me), is that, potentially, once my brain hits that plateau of development, I'm stuck with who I am.

There are many, many things about who I am right now that I do not like. I think this is probably true for everyone. I always figured, however, that I can improve and change and grow out of whatever faults I see in myself.

Now, suddenly, it is CRUNCH TIME to change. If I don't become a better me by next October I will be locked into a mindset of "almost accomplished" and "half-hearted efforts" and "quickly distracted" and "self conceited" and "LAZY" for the rest of my life. I have to hurry and change AS FAST AS POSSIBLE to get myself to a point where I can look and say "Yes this is who I am and I'm okay with that."

Except that's stupid. I'm not going to suddenly lock into a certain persona (though personal change may become more difficult - I'm still unsure of this). Tossing my current life to the wind is reckless and foolish, and I will always have personal faults that I need to accept and be okay with myself.

But either way, I still want to improve in some fashion, and I have a recently acquired and psuedo-science filled reason to do so.

Again, regardless of all that, it got me thinking.

For the longest time

oh hang on girlfriend is calling me

okay that was nice. We had a reasonable adult deathmatch conversation centered around my lack of christmas doings. So it was relevant after all!

I have completely lost track, now I have to re-read things.

Okay, so when faced with the prospect of change, I'm realizing there is a lot of negatives that you have to go through to get to the positive.

For example this job. When I first started I literally had to hide in the equipment room and freak out saying "I can't do this I can't do this job I have to quit I have to go back."

I was terrified of people. Not simply people, but being close and interacting with people on an extremely personal level. How do you just go and FEED another thinking adult human being? How do you know what is the right thing to do? I had trained as an EMT so I was ready for the EMERGENCY aspect of things, but in the day to day the SOCIAL aspect becomes so much more important. How do I talk to these people? How should I approach them?

What kept me going was that I knew I needed this experience and couldn't give it up, and the thought that "if these other people can do this, then so can I."

But really I was very uncomfortable.

My first day I had to feed this elderly man. Now this guy was in charge of his mental faculties, but he was sick and couldn't move his arms or talk very much. He was also a very gruff man. During the entire time (30-40 minutes) I was there to feed him, he only said two things.

"Where is my damn wife!?"

and

"Don't be so nervous."

Apparently I was so uncomfortable that this invalid man who could barely make the effort to speak needed to calm me down. I chuckled at that (its amazing how helpful a laugh can be) and kept feeding him.

Of course I was still really uncomfortable. I didn't think about it at the time, but for that half-hour+ I was sitting parallel to the guy I was feeding, but turning my neck to face him. I was completely rigid. I did not move from that position for a long time and well, when I left work that day my neck ached so badly that it hurt to move my head at all.

Like I wasn't sure I would have been able to drive home. It hurt to look each way for traffic. I guess that's what a "crick in the neck" is supposed to be.

Anyway, I'm nothing like that now. I can feed patients like its no big deal, and it really only took a month to get to that point. Its a very recent and rewarding personal image of how I've managed to change for the better.

And I wouldn't have done it without going through several really crappy days. "Rejoice in your sufferings" I guess.

I hope this doesn't sound preachy. I mean it does but only so much as I am speaking to myself. It just happens to be on my mind and I guess its a way for me to psyche myself up and get me going. I'm trying to learn to stop caring as much about what other people think but that sounds terrible and out of context and I probably won't talk about that for a while.

The jist of this is, I think, that if I want to change or improve for the better I have to be willing to put myself through some crappy situations. And I have to have the motivation to stay in those situations when they are at their crappiest. I may have to change my external situation to keep me in a place where I can grow. I can't just keep things around me the same. Otherwise I'm just running in circles.

7:00 pm

H no I also have to feed a lady! I forgot she has to eat!

7:21 pm

I hope someone already fed her.

I have downloaded an app on my phone that lets me make little to-do lists. (it's called "Orchestra", if you are iphone equipped).

On it I have several items including: "Apply for 3 research jobs", "organize room", "finish secret santa". "Write a btp post" is not an item on that list, but here I am anyway.

Tired as I was, I read the thread title as "the means of reproduction and had to do a double take. Then I just decided to read it out of curiosity.

HELICOPTER CAT FINDS THIS ENJOYABLE

I have not responded to this yet! The response is that "the means of reproduction" is something that I would very much like to write on. "btp and the sexytimes" or "btp and the butts of glory" oh oh or "btp and the many astriks"

Also I often will read threads because of misread perceived sexual connotations. I can't think of anything specific here but IT HAS HAPPENED.

IT HAS HAPPENED TO EVERYONE AND YOU KNOW IT.

Oh man now I kind of want to talk about sexy things but nope nope it is not the time for that I am instead going to talk about drugs.

DRUGS NOT SEX. SORRY GUYS.

There are a good variety of skills I have gained from working here that I never expected. Like how to make iced tea (hot tea + ice), how to BS marginally pointless medical records (oh uhhh yeah you ate...half your dinner? I'm going to say half? You're unconscious right now so yeah that), how to remove layers upon layers of caked on alcohol gel from your hands (because you have to cover them whenever you enter/exit a room - this also goes along with 'how to fake putting alcohol gel on your hands'), but most interestingly is how to spike people's drinks.

Okay it is really not that interesting. You just take a drink and then put stuff in it that was not originally there. Not very hard, but then again neither is making iced tea so I probably have a lot of room for learning things.

But yes, adding things to people's food is pretty important in a hospital.

Lets say I check the blood sugar of this guy before the night is over and it's 70. This is a low number. If he goes to sleep he will probably wake up with a blood sugar of 40 and that is not a good thing. (80-120 is a good thing). But this sleepy old man doesn't want to eat this turkey sandwich that meal services has prepared for him, instead he wants a juice.

That's good that's okay juice is fine it has sugar.

Not enough sugar though.

So there I am adding 3-4 packets of grade A refined sugar to this diabetics drink so that he won't be in a coma in the morning. They call it "fairy dusting" (no one calls it "fairy dusting"). Anyway he drinks it and he is happy because Wow old people really like sugar for some reason and I'm happy because he will probably be fine in the morning.

I add sugar to a lot of things. Applesauce mainly, because some old folks just wont eat things that are not loaded with sweet sweet fairy dust (no one calls it that).

Actually applesauce is the modus operandi for a lot of sneaky medications. So the nurse comes in and is all "okay mr. so and so time for your pills."

Mr. so and so does not want his pills.

"okay that's fine let me put these pills away into this pill crusher."

crush crush crush crush.

fairy dust

mix mix mix.

"hello Mr. so and so would you like some applesauce?"

Mr. So and so would love some applesauce.

(or at least he can't argue against swallowing the applesauce as much)

Nurses (and most hospital staff) can be devious creatures. They will do what they can to get you to do what they think the doctor wants you to do, even if you don't want to do it.

The magic words are "It's the Doctor's orders". Apparently patients trust their doctors? That is probably a good person to trust. Some of them don't but that's when you have to pull out the applesauce.

Old guy pooped in the hall. Details later.

Old guy pooped in the hall. Details later.

The means of production indeed.

I bet you guys are all so frustrated. You're walking around your home, scratching your head and thinking: Man I wish btp would hurry up and tell us about the guy who pooped.

I hate to say that it is not that interesting of a story. I may have hyped it up too much.

First off though I want to make a personal note to my secret santee: My bad. I'm sorry it is so late.

I didn't actually do anything Christmas-related until the eve of, and that included purchasing and wrapping gifts for all those people I was going to see the day of. Those sort of took priority. Then, after the holiday cheer had subsided, I was left with the conundrum: What the heck do I do for this guy? (Also, I assume you are a guy.) I was too proud to ask Fogel for advice (this was probably a mistake) and I had a little ditty in my head so I thought: "HEY I CAN MAKE A SONG". Turns out I am absolutely terrible at making songs. I always have been. I think I autotuned some podcast quotes and looped them to snares once but even that was lackluster and my hoard of expensive pirated software is locked away on my virus ridden computer (virused probably because of all that pirated software!)

Anyway I had another idea which then bombed but now I have an ACCEPTABLE and DOABLE gift idea. It will require some time and daylight to complete however, things which I am not in abundance of. Simply put though I WILL PUT MY HEART INTO IT once I am able to finish it.

Anyway about the GUY WHO POOPED. I actually wasn't there for the pooping. This is sort of a second hand story. I have a much better first hand story but it involves me making a terrible mistake and maybe could put me in some legal trouble and basically I may have killed a man. (to be honest though, that is a very somber and serious story, and whenever I try to make light of it, I end up feeling a little sad.)

There is a third story, which is hardly exciting at all but I figure why not I can write it here.

I am a huge fan of stories.

So...POOP-GUY.

A few days ago, last week I think? I ended up working on the front of the unit (the unit is shaped like an '8' with 40 rooms total, the first 1-20 rooms are the 'front', the rest are the 'back')

So I get a report from the previous PCA which gives me a quick detailing of each patient. If they're 'total care' then that means you'll be changing their diapers, and possibly feeding and turning them. 'Assist to the Bedside commode' means that whenever they have to go, they'll call and you have to walk/hoist them over to the little bedside pot, 'Assist to the bathroom' means that you just have to walk with them and make sure they don't get tangled, and 'Self' means that they can pretty much take care of themselves.

Well this one guy was a 'self' patient. He walked around, did his own thing, and all I did was take his vital signs a few times and that was it.

Then I went home had a good weekend and came back on Monday.

I had the same guy again. This time the report was different. The PCA sat down with me and huffed.

It was that kind of "huff" that is both from exhaustion and relief. It is the kind of huff that you don't really want to hear when you know that you are going to be picking up wherever that person left off.

"This guy is going to give you trouble. The entire room smells like pee. He just got up and started peeing on the floor. I've given him a bath twice.

(that is a big deal because baths are basically the most time and effort consuming thing you can do with a patient. If someone gets a bath, and then gets another bath, there have been some special circumstances.)

"He is confused, and will wander into other patients rooms if you don't watch him. If he gets up you can maybe coax him into going back into bed."

She gave me the rest of the report...and then oh hey that guy's bed alarm went off. Welp.

So I walked in and he was sitting up, and pushing at this little table-tray that we keep in the rooms. I pull my "Oh goodness what is this noise in here?" routine to turn off the bed alarm and maybe not have the person be ticked off at me for having them on a bed alarm. He didn't notice.

Which is good and bad...he wasn't upset at having a bed alarm on him but mainly because he wasn't present enough to realize that there was even such thing as a bed alarm.

Or that he was even sitting on a bed.

I'm going to jump ahead in time here, after the hallway-pooping (which I was not there for) and go to the point where I've been officially assigned to just watch this guy. He's been given some stuff to make him sleepy, but he's still trying to get out of bed.

I don't want him to get out of bed. I would very much like it if he stayed in bed but there he is putting on his shoes and tying knots in the laces. I decide to do something which I am not very good at and generally very reluctant to do with any other person.

I try and hold a conversation.

It's not an easy thing to do with someone who is doped up and not really all there, but I managed to learn a lot about him.

He was from Michigan. He had lived and worked in a Detroit body shop. He had some children that lived in Texas. He loved the great lakes and he really liked to fish. He had a car (I forget the name) that would take him "wherever I want to go".

He seemed really proud of that fact. There was a love for his car in that little statement. Most confused elderly guys, I've found that they frequently ask about their cars. They mean a lot to them.

I've never really seen my car as a liberating force, something that would take me "wherever I want to go". I see it more as a transport that "gets me to work; sometimes it breaks". Maybe I have been using it wrong.

Even this confused old guy, with 70+ years had a story. He maybe couldn't remember all the parts (who can?) but there was a real history with him. He was more than the guy who pooped in the hall. I guess everyone is.

It's why I like stories so much.

Anyway jumping back in time, pre-poop. He was lifting the tray in the room. I get him back in bed. He gets up. He starts trying to lift the bed. He mutters something about "glass" and how this "part is stuck".

It wasn't until later that I realized he thought the bed was a car, and that he was doing body work on it, and expected me to help him. Each time he got up to try and lift the bed (this guy was pretty strong), and each time I went in the room, turned the alarm off and coaxed him back in bed.

I went to the nurse and told her: "This guy is going to keep getting up. We need to restrain him somehow otherwise he is going to get up when neither of us can get to him and he is going to fall or hurt himself."

This was a true statement. It was a genuine and reasonable reason for wanting to put this individual in a position where he could not get up. The real motivation for this statement though was probably "So I won't have to fool with him anymore."

I suppose there's a bit of irony that, because of this, I ended up having to fool with him exclusively.

So the nurse gives him Ativan. Ativan makes you sleepy and less anxious.

Generally.

Anyway, the Ativan had the opposite effect. Instead of making him stay in bed and sleep, it made him wobbly and restless and even more disoriented and confused.

They don't shoot you with a tranq gun if you act up in the hospital. There's no needle that when you get injected with you suddenly go limp and fall asleep. There is a bunch of procedures and protocols for getting doctors to approve various methods of physical and chemical restraints which take hours to get and even then the drugs given are in such minor doses that the effects tend to be gradual. (though I guess they may linger longer? I am not a doctor.)

So he started to wander into the hallway. He'd walk a few feet. Then stop and lay down on the floor. We'd pick him up and walk him back to the bed but nope he doesn't want to lay down on the bed, he wants to move it around and try and lift the rails on it.


oh hey while I'm being a butt and typing this apparently Noodly/Alicely (goodness I am glad that is not a secret anymore) is video chatting with some Medieval literature professor at Glasgow she met online just now while watching "true grit"?

HOW DOES SHE DO THIS?

It is an enigma. I simply do not understand it. I am forever amazed by the fact that, despite her frightening and uncanny ability to meet new and interesting people she continues to insist that I am the one for her.

Oh crap. I was going to add "also she got me ____" as a way of expressing something cool or awesome she got me for christmas but I CAN'T REMEMBER WHAT SHE GOT ME FOR CHRISTMAS. crap crap crap crap. Maybe she didn't get me a thing? is that what we agreed on? I got her a thing but that was because I went against the not getting things thing. Maybe she didn't get me a thing because I am notoriously terrible at receiving gifts? Like "Hey I got you an original Sega Genisis with a bunch of games" "oh cool. I never played sega. I'm not a big fan of sonic." or "I got you a beast wars collectors book that lists every beast wars toy ever made." "oh, cool, a book. can you return it?" (For the record when I actually read through that book it was AMAZING and I LOVE IT.) Wait I remember now.

Paintings. She gave me some paintings that she drew that I liked and she told me she was going to give to a friend but really gave them to me instead and once I get some frames they are gonna decorate this place up.

Anyway back to that guy.

I went to lunch.

There have been several instances where I have left a particularly troublesome patient and gone to lunch and, upon my return I find out something terrible has happened.

There was the stocky confused lady who I came back to find screaming, her arms and legs held down on the bed by security while the nurse pumped her full of more Ativan ™. Then there was the angry black suicide patient who hated being told what to do and apparently had to be forced back into his room by security because they didn't want him to go outside and smoke. (that is also a neat story).

Now there was this guy. Apparently he walked out of his room, started peeing, and pooped in the hall. Housekeeping was doing a lot of mopping.

That was when the charge nurse decreed that I was going to forgo taking care of my other patients and just sit with him until later.

Thus my conversation with him, which was really just me asking him a bunch of questions in an effort to distract him.

There were really only two more notable things with this guy. The charge nurse (actually I think it was the same nurse that helped out with that confused lady that wrote 157 a bunch), she came in with the patient's nurse and tried to hold the guy's arm to check his IV and the guy freaked out. He grabbed her arm and started to squeeze it as tightly as he could while saying "I'm gonna break it. I'm gonna break it." We pried his hands off and security was called and the charge nurse had bruises and the confused old guy who pooped in the hall sat in bed and mumbled: "I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry I shouldn't have done that."

The second thing was, late in the shift, he started to get out of bed again. I tried to coax him to lie down like I had done before but he was a bit more determined this time. I had managed to get a diaper on him earlier, so I wasn't too worried about him voiding. Anyway he said "restroom" so I walked him over and started to nudge him towards the toilet, stopping him whenever he paused to try to take off one of the fixtures on the wall. The bathroom door was being held open by the little trash can (something we do pretty regularly) and he kicked at it a bit.

"Okay leave that alone, lets head over to the toi- oh no wait that's...oh okay."

and he just started whizzing in the wastebasket.

He went back to his nursing home the following morning - much to the rejoicing of the nursing staff. The drugs had apparently kicked in and he was pretty docile all that morning. "Like a big teddy bear" one of the nurses had said.

I have more stories, like I said, but I think I'll stop there for now.

bob, it's bad enough that you tell us a dude pooped and then leave us hanging, but you can't just say "Oh also I killed a guy sort of maybe?"

When will you tell us your storrrryyyy

Man I've been asking myself the same thing.

There are actually two stories. Maybe three.

The first one is where I may have screwed up but the guy definitely died. The second is where I definitely screwed up but the guy might not be dead. And the third is where I followed instructions and the guy is probably dead now, all according to plan.

I'm actually in the process of moving back in with my parents. (BLUUUUUUHHHHHH)

It's not really that bad though, but it has been occupying the majority of my thinking times. There is a lot of drama going on over there which I haven't really been privy to, but as odd as it sounds I'm a little excited to be able to get into the thick of it. Also I will be saving $500+ a month so that is a big bonus.

I'm one of those people who just does a horrendous job of keeping up with others. I can meet you and be friendly and all, but when it comes to keeping in touch I frequently find other things to do. This extends into my family life as well. (Also internet life! hence bringing it up as excuse for not being around!)

I gots to learn people.

So here's one of them.

When I first started working at the hospital I had about a month where I followed around another PCA and basically helped her out with whatever while she trained me and explained how to do what it is we do.

I think it was during my second week of work that she took me into the equipment room and finally just showed me everything there. Ice packs, extra gloves, nasal canulas, the pink bucket (oh gosh how I love that pink bucket, so many uses. and it has only failed me once. See: fell out of the bottom of the bedside commode while a patient was on it. Pee everywhere.). Eventually she showed me a big plastic container which she explained was a body bag.

"Have you ever had to use this?" I asked.

"Just once. Just a few months after I had started working here..."

I've forgot the story she told me. Basically she was surprised and it freaked her out and the nurse was like "can you go get that bag"

Now this story all takes place during the same day. During that day, we got a new patient in, an elderly man who was accompanied by his supportive wife.

This guy died by the end of the day.

At this point, I had started to do some work on my own: get people water, assist to the bathroom, bug the nurses, all while my PCA trainer did her thing, and occasionally we'd catch up or she'd call me over for a task I wasn't familiar with yet.

So I brought this couple some water, socks, tissues, just the basic things you get when you come into a room. They were very friendly. They smiled and talked to me. I explained the room to them - how to use the TV remote, how to press the call button, how to use the phone. I wasn't entirely sure what they picked up on but it seemed like they got it.

A little time went on and this guy's family came over to visit. They had a nice visit but I overheard the son (or maybe son-in-law) saying: "Now remember to stay in bed." in a rather authoritative tone.

uggggh crap I just remembered I need to get over to the eye-doctor to pick up things before they close. This is what I get for staying up till 5 and then sleeping till 1. okay I'm gonna hurry this up.

So that guys' family leaves and his wife presses the call button and I come over and she asks about how to use the TV.

I had just told her how to use the TV, but hey learning new things is hard. So I told her again, but before I finished she asked me how to turn it on which is something I just told her. I spent about 10 minutes going around in circles trying to explain how it works when I finally had to go and told her something like: "If you have any trouble using it give me a call"

Maybe five minutes later I got a call on the little phones we carry around. "Get over to room # your patient in there fell."

Whaaaaaaaaa? I thought, not already knowing the outcome of this story.

When I got to the room the guy was sitting on his butt next underneath the wall mounted tv. A couple of nurses were trying to help him up and I came in. I heard the wife say: "He got up to change the channel on the TV." And the guy said, "I slipped on my sock."

As far as I know, this guy didn't hit his head, just landed on his rump. But I don't know for certain.

There was a little moment of frightening realization when I came in the room and she said those words. I hadn't put a bed alarm on this guy when I left the room because I figured since he had family in there it wouldn't be a problem. I knew he had a small degree of dementia but for some reason it didn't click that his wife was confused as well.

So, falls are a bad thing in a hospital. People can die from fall-related trauma and if it's on your property where they're trying to get better it is pretty much your fault.

This guy seemed a little shaken, but otherwise okay. Nobody noticed any trauma, and I'm not sure if it was the trauma that killed him. Of course, at this point, he was still very much alive.

We had him move rooms so that he'd be closer to the nurses station. We called his family to let them know, and they came back over, and we placed an order for a "low-bed" which are nice little guys that sit very close to the ground and have little gymnastic pads on either side of them just in case you fall out. Of course "I" didn't do any of these things, I just focused on the rest of my group and figured I'd go check on that guy again once everything died down...wait bad word choice.

Ugh. I'm not good with emotional situations. Oftentimes I use poorly placed jokes as an attempt to avoid them. (anyone who has seen me post frequently will be like: "ya, think?") This is especially bad when the humor is only funny to me. I've been chastised about this by a teary-eyed girlfriend too often. The point is I just inserted a joke in a story that really should be somber, and when viewed with any sort of seriousness or honesty it really is.

So I was sitting at the nurses' station after the guy's familiy had returned. It was uncomfortable. The earlier authoritative sounding son/stepson was back and he was full on belligerent, not to the nursing staff, to his father. "Don't get out of bed! Do you understand me!?...No. No say that you won't get up! Look at me!"

It went on like that for ten minutes probably (it felt like thirty). All the while I'm sitting outside the closed door putting in this round's vital signs into the computer and thinking: "He's confused. He doesn't understand."

The next time I went into his room, the family had left, and they were transferring him over to the new - low bed. There were maybe 5 or so hospital staff (nurses, equipment techs and myself) in the room.

He had this pale look on his face. He didn't say anything, he just kept his eyes closed and shook a bit while we moved him. The thought came to me: this guy is acting different but I didn't say anything. Nobody said anything.

His wife was sleeping on the pullout bed next to him. She was out for the whole thing.

Mentally though, I just labeled the guy's lack of speaking and demeanor under "confused". "Confused" I realized that day is a very dangerous word in the hospital. It can help prepare you for a patient's dementia, and put you on guard against irregular behavior, but it also has a tendency to get you to ignore otherwise critical changes in the patient.

Sometimes that's a good thing, like with the "157 lady". She was confused, and her agitation at night was different than her calmness during the day, but it wasn't indicative of anything medically worrysome, and needlessly fretting over that isn't going to get you anywhere.

But in this case it was different. When someone dies in a significant way to you, you try to make sense of it. You try to give it meaning or a purpose so that it doesn't seem so pointless. When I realized that this guy had died, I tried to ingrain into me what I could learn from this to better help other patients and people in the future. What I came up with was just returning to an old mantra from EMT school. Know the patient.

Everybody has a "normal" their baseline for health and activity, and everyone's normal is a bit different, but patients don't shift from their "normal" unless something has caused them to. This guy had a noticable shift from his normal level of activity. He was disoriented, but he talked with you. This time, he didn't. If you have that nagging: "Something is different." even when you're not certain, it's best to check it out.

At least that's what I tried to take away from this.

I went into his room later to check his blood sugar. I was getting the equipment ready when the nurse walked in. She took just one look at him.

"Oh shit!" she gasped.

She went over and checked his breathing. Absent. Pluse rate. Nothing. He had died.

I didn't even notice. I was so focused on setting up the task at hand that I may have not even noticed he was dead until after I pricked his finger. Maybe not even past then. Though I don't know for sure. I'd like to think I am not that terrible.

I didn't have to get the body-bag out. Someone else took care of that.

The wife was asleep the entire time. The family came back to pick her up and wheeled her home. I don't know if she realized what had happened. She seemed like she was in a tired daze.

You know those books that are just real page-turners?

If that story was a book it would've been a page-turner.

I just realize I was having a judgment crisis of not "if" but "when" I should pants this lady.

Thanks for the compliment pip! (pip? Yeah okay)

But I probably would prefer it if the ending was different.

"but then they found the cure for dying. Everyone was happy and mentally sound and the novice pca had not screwed up at all and won a medal."

Actually, they do give out literal medals. I got one today. Though it was for "keeping busy" rather than saving someone's life.

I'm not sure they even have medals for the latter at the hospital.

I plan to redeem my medal for up to six dollars at CAFETERIA.


Honestly though, I'm not really doing anything special (story-wise). It's just retelling something that happened but with little mental censoring. Sort of a stream of consciousness/simulated conversation. I unno.

What I'm getting at is that I'm positive I'm not the only one with interesting stories (or even mundane stories told in interesting ways). I know schazer...(okay I just tried to jokingly type it out at "skayzer" because that's the wrong way and she hates that but no wait, I recall, "shayzer",the way I mentally and audibly pronounce it always, is in fact the wrong way and that realization took me by surprise.)


Damn. I am typing on an iPhone and it is exceedingly difficult to keep a coherent train of thought due to the fact that I can only see a few lines of text above where I'm typing. Once my moving home finishes up and I have an actual room and not a couch to sleep/put stuff in, hopefully my coherence will increase.

Anyway shayzer (haha zing!) had a pretty great post about Christchurch musings a while back in gen chat. You guys should pester her to post more about her feelings and cool thoughts. Just as I am now pestering you to post more of your musings. You can even do it here! I don't care. Ain't stepping on my toes. This thread always had an open door policy on posts.

The only difference is that I don't have to feel guilty if I completely change the topic or ramble on about nothing.

Oh about the above bob text. A lady had come in earlier in january from the er or lobby or something where she was still wearing her own pants. She had a pull up diaper underneath, and I knew those pants were going to get in the way of me ripping off that pee-filled sack. But at the same time the lady was getting a little overwhelmed with all the peopleoving about and the new room and I had literally just introduced myself.

"hi I'll be working with you tonight" INSTANTLY YOUR PANTS FLY OFF.

Man hospital, why do you have to make possibly great things be terrible and sad. Its all about context.

I erred on the side of letting her wear her pants for a while. Yeah they got a little pee-filled, but that's the price you pay for a little temporary dignity.

Man I wish that story had a cooler ending too.

A patient mentioned he might have too many blankets on. I told him no problem just kick one off. I then remembered he had both legs amputated.