More Ways To Be Sued

This would make a great law school exam question. The issue is foreseeability. The patient is admitted with a broken back. The x-ray clearly shows that two of the vertebra are fractured. The doctor decides to treat the patient by ordering the physical therapist to make her walk. The patient protests, but gives in when threatened. She stands up and immediately loses all sensation in her legs. Imagine. Who saw that coming?

The patient is being transferred to another hospital for neurosurgery, because we don't do that at our hospital. Hopefully, the neurosurgeon can remove the fractured vertebra that is now wedged against the spinal cord. If we are really lucky, she may even walk again. We never seem to run out of ways to be sued.

We have another patient who may get an infection because of another mistake that was made. I got report from the recovery room on a patient who had just had hip replacement surgery. Going into the room to get it ready for the patient, I couldn't help but notice that the room was dirty. It would be unusual, but possible that the patient was in that room prior to surgery and it was only her trash all over the room. I enquired and the answer was no. It was not her dirty room, it was the prior patient's dirty room and they forgot to clean it.

That problem could have been corrected before the patient arrived, except for one issue. The patient was arriving by bed and the bed came from the dirty room. ( Our orthopedic patients are place on the bed from their assigned room immediately after surgery.)

I asked about the previous patient from that room and was told that he had a scrotal infection. This is where you say ewwww. This lady's bare bottom was lying where the man's private area touched. I changed the sheets, but it was too late.

Tatts

One of my coworkers showed up for work with a different look. Her face was tattooed. Black arched eyebrows swooped across her face in a dramatic, permanent look of surprise. Black rings surrounded her eyes and the finishing touch was a black dot on her cheek, a beauty mark. For a blonde, especially, I'm not sure about the wisdom in choosing black, permanent make-up.

Her look is both theatrical and clown-like, in my opinion. She seems happy with it, though. And all of that work only cost one hundred dollars. She was especially proud of the bargain basement price. I hope that someday when she is old and the black lines are sagging, she is still happy about her bargain tattoos. Her next project is lip liner. In my humble opinion, that will be another big mistake. Unless she always wears lipstick, there will be an odd red line circling her lips. It is not a flattering look.

Also on the subject of tattoos, one of our patients has an unusual tattoo. It is in her rectum. I don't mean around her bottom, I mean that the tattoo is inside the first three inches of her rectum. I have no idea why. Except for that, she seems perfectly normal. I really don't understand it.

The Three Inch Disgrace

We used to get a twenty-five dollar gift certificate for Christmas. Then, the tax laws changed. Because we would have to pay income tax on the gift certificate under the new rules, my employer did away with the Christmas presents. How thoughtful.

To make it up to us, they have been buying us food treats instead. I have no recognition of last year's food gift, which in and of itself is noteworthy. I have an exceptional memory when it comes to things like food. It must not have been good, but also not so bad that it is forever etched in my memory.

Anyway, we got this year's Christmas present. We heard that it was going to be Subway sandwiches. They have a "five dollar foot long" special right now, so we expected a foot long sub. It was disappointing, considering that was going to be our entire present, but at least subs are okay to eat. When the time came, we were each presented with a quarter of a sandwich. I measured it just to make sure. It was a three incher.

We don't mean to be ungrateful. They didn't have to give us anything. And with the bigwigs losing over seven hundred million of our dollars on the stock market, there isn't much money to spare right now. We are lucky to have jobs. And, we have so much else to be thankful for. But still, a three inch Subway sandwich for Christmas?

The day shift did a little better than we did. They got a traditional breakfast with eggs, potatoes, breakfast meat and bread. They were complaining too, though. What they really wanted was rice and fish for breakfast. That's why the gift certificates were such good presents. Everyone could buy whatever they wanted. One year, I got a purple purse. Another year, I got a blue chiffon party dress. This year, I got a quarter-footer.

The Procedure

They said that the bowel prep would be the worst part of the colonoscopy. It was bad, but I was prepared. For a day and a half, I had nothing but clear liquids. I was hungry, dizzy and reminded why diets don't work. No one can be that hungry for very long before they fall off the wagon and binge.



I was prepared for the salty elixirs, the pills and the quarts of water that had to be drunk. I knew that my day would revolve around the toilet. Everything was going according to plan. What I did not anticipate was the nausea. I don't know about you, but for me, nausea is just about the worst thing. The unending hours of nausea wore me down. I also didn't know that the bowel flushing would last all night. Unfortunately, a couple of times, I failed to wake when nature called. The next morning, even though I was still so sick, I had to wash linens. It was an ugly night.



For the actual procedure, I was a nervous wreck. When they wheeled me into the procedure room, I suddenly felt claustrophobic and wanted to jump off the table and run. But knowing that I could run and they wouldn't be able to stop me, calmed me down. I just needed to know that there was an escape route in order to feel better. When the nurse came at me with the demerol, the panic resumed. My escape route was about to close. While alert and oriented, they could not stop me if I bolted. If drugged, they could hold me down, drug me some more and force me into submission. I'm a nurse, I know how these things work.



Seventy-five milligrams of demerol was put into my IV line. It hit me like a ton of bricks. The room started spinning, my skin flushed hot and I felt out of control. A few seconds later, I went limp. The battle was over. I was now all theirs.



The doctor did not have an easy time. Part way through the procedure, he had to start over with a different scope. I'm a pediatric size. Many years ago, I had some fibroids removed from my uterus, which resulted in scar tissue. The doctor had a terrible time getting past the adhesions. They kept flipping me from side to side and someone kept digging their hand into my abdomen, while the doctor kept inflating me with air like I was a balloon. It was painful, I was starting to moan, so an additional 75 milligrams of demerol plus 4 milligrams of vistaril was given.



The procedure usually takes between 30 and 45 minutes. They worked on me for an hour and fifteen minutes. It was worth it, though. They found a small polyp that could have turned into colon cancer someday. It was removed. As awful as the procedure was, it sure beat having cancer surgery and chemo some day in the future.



Lindsay picked me up after the procedure and it being dinner time, we went out to dinner. I had not had any solid food in almost 48 hours and was starving. I just picked at my dinner, though. My stomach hurt and I was still dizzy and nauseated. After dinner, I wobbled to the restroom. I had just gotten inside the stall when all hell broke loose. I vomited all over the floor and the seat of the toilet. Feeling guilty, I tried to wipe it up with paper towels.



Feeling better, I wanted to stop at Target on the way home to buy some batteries. As I walked out the front door, I became dizzy and flushed again. There was a bench next to the door. I sat down and spent a couple of minutes vomiting in plastic shopping bags. Lindsay went back in the store to keep me well supplied with bags. I suppose it could be embarrassing to vomit next to the entrance of a busy store, but I was too sick to care.



On the drive home, I threw up again in the Target bags. I don't know how people get hooked on drugs like demerol. It just makes me puke my guts out. Demerol was by far the worst part of the colonoscopy. In five years, I get to go back and do the same thing again and I'm glad. The colonoscopy wasn't fun, but it sure beats colon cancer.

Don't Make Me Cold

I taped plastic bags to the ceiling in our break room. If it stays up, I'm going to start working above the nursing stations next. The engineers say there is nothing that can be done about the cold air blowing from the vents. Ha!

Who Counted The Sponges?

My descent down into Hell has begun. The doctor has taken my estrogen away from me because it has caused a pre-cancerous condition in my uterus. The hot flashes have returned.

For an entire year, I was good. I slept well and felt fine. Now, the burning, tingling, adrenalin-like flashes are back, alternated with the I'm-so-cold-I'm-going-to die sensations. It's going to be at least three months until I can have estrogen again and there is a possibility I will never be allowed it again. It almost makes me want to buy a gun and hold up a pharmacy. No jury in the world would convict me, assuming they were all menopausal women.

At least I'm not going through what one of my patients experienced. She had a laprascopic hysterectomy. All she had after the surgery were three tiny, band aide-sized incisions. There was just one problem. The sponge count was off.

The doctor decided to x-ray the patient while she was still on the table. An image consistent with a sponge showed up on the x-ray, so the doctor cut an incision from hip bone to hip bone. The doctor searched every nook and cranny, but no sponge was to be found. The patient was stapled close.

The patient had to be told something, so she was just told that although they tried to do the procedure by the minimally invasive procedure, they were forced to open her up. She has no idea that she was opened up for a wild goose chase. Her recovery will be slower and more painful as a result. Should someone have told her the truth?