Unfiltered Story #117858

, , , | Unfiltered | August 8, 2018

(I’m in the ER with my husband after he broke his arm. A woman and her adult daughter are in the curtain area next to us from what I can gather the older woman had a fall and hit her head and doesn’t remember what happened and lost her hearing aids. The nurse is asking her some general questions.)

Nurse: “Okay just a few questions: what is your full name?”

Older Woman: “[Name].”

Nurse: “Great, and your birthdate?”

Older Woman: “Pardon?”

Daughter: *bit louder* “Your birthday mum”

Older Woman: “Oh it’s [birthdate].”

Nurse: “Who is the prime minister?”

Older Woman: “I’m sorry what?”

Daughter: *louder again* “Who’s the idiot that runs the country?”

Older Woman: “Oh that’s Tony Abbott”

(My husband and I start can’t help but laugh. The nurse had a good chuckle too.)

Same Old Tired Story

, , , , , | Healthy | August 6, 2018

(My nurse recounts this story to my father, her coworker, after I wake up from appendix surgery.)

Nurse: “I’m getting her to recovery and expecting her to be out for another few minutes when she suddenly sits up, turns to me, and tells me in the most deadpan voice, ‘Hey, I’m going to throw up now. Sorry,’ and spews. Then she makes a face, lays back down, and falls right back asleep.”

Dad: *snorts* “Funny thing is, sleep-walking and -talking runs in our family. I do it, and my sister does it. It wouldn’t surprise me if my daughter does, too.”

Nurse: “She warned me. Maybe she just woke up for a minute.”

Dad: “She’s a teenager. She hasn’t been awake since she was twelve.”

(And that’s when I ACTUALLY woke up from the surgery and started grumbling about feeling groggy. Either way, I don’t remember puking, or telling the nurse I was going to. And to be fair to my dad, it’s ten years later, and I’m STILL always tired.)

A Crazy Lack Of Competence

, , , , , , | Healthy | July 27, 2018

(I’m Bipolar I and not medicated. We’ve tried a few different combinations of drugs for me, but unfortunately I either have side effects or it simply doesn’t help anything. While therapy has been helpful, it’s not perfect; I still need the occasional trip to a psychiatric hospital. For this particular incident, I am sent to a completely different hospital, which I later learn is more adequately equipped to handle patients seeking drug rehab. However, even that seems to be inaccurate, as I learn during my three-and-a-half day visit. On day one, a patient and the head of the wing are talking in a common area:)

Patient #1: “When do you think I can go home?”

Doctor #1: “Sunday. Your insurance lets us hold you another week.”

(For a little context, during a previous group session I had with [Patient #1], he mentioned he’s been here almost two weeks and the head of the group commented on how much progress he’s made. As my stay continues, it isn’t uncommon to overhear the nurses gossiping about how they can’t believe the doctors still won’t discharge [Patient #1]. Day two: one of the other patients is a new mother with apparently no thought filter. As a result, she frequently talks about how she has to pump if the subject even remotely drifts towards family or children. One of the other patients finally gets fed up with it and a fight nearly breaks out. Unlike the mother, the other patient is allowed to leave the wing to go have lunch in the cafeteria.)

Doctor #2: “Okay, [Patient #3], you just lost your cafeteria privilege for today.”

Me: “But doesn’t [Patient #2] have to stay up here, too?”

Doctor #2: “Of course.”

Me: “So, you’re going to lock them in the wing together when most of the staff is down in the cafeteria?”

Patient #1: “Besides, isn’t [Patient #3] getting discharged tomorrow?”

(After enough of us band together, the doctors finally agree the best thing they can do for both patients is to separate them. Also of note, a fourth patient is discharged at the end of day two, with a certain nurse helping her gather her things. On day three, though I’ve only had three or four sessions with her, I bid [Patient #3] farewell as she is gathering her things from the storage locker with the same nurse who assisted yesterday’s discharge. Just as I go to leave:)

Patient #3: “Where’s my backpack?”

Nurse #1: “Your what?”

Patient #3: “My backpack. I came in with a pink backpack from [Brand]. Where is it?”

Nurse #1: “We only had one like that. It was [Patient #4]’s, wasn’t it?”

Patient #3: “Wha?!”

Nurse #1: “She said that bag was hers. We gave it to her when she left last night.”

Patient #3: “YOU GAVE HER MY BACKPACK?!”

Nurse #1: “Sorry. We’ll call the police and report the theft.”

Patient 3: “WHAT THE F***’S THAT GOING TO DO? SHE’S BEEN GONE A DAY ALREADY! WHY DIDN’T ANY OF YOU NOTICE THE BAG WASN’T LABELLED FOR HER?” *begins crying*

Nurse #1: “Calm down! It’s just a backpack!”

Patient #3: “THAT BACKPACK HAD MY WALLET IN IT! WITH MY LICENSE AND SOCIAL SECURITY CARD! YOU LET HER STEAL MY IDENTITY!”

Nurse #1: “We can replace those things!”

Patient #3: “IT HAD THE ONLY PICTURE I HAVE OF ME WITH MY FATHER! YOU CAN’T REPLACE THAT! HE DIED AFTER I WAS BORN!”

Me: “Get the f****** police already, you dips***!”

(I didn’t know what else to do. The police do show up, though I have no idea how this story ends or if anything was done about [Nurse #1]. On day four — my release day — I’m sitting in the common area playing cards, waiting for my girlfriend to show up and drive me home. Needing a fourth for Hearts, one of the nurses agrees to join us.)

Nurse #2: “[My Name], you sure know how to pick ’em. Of all the weeks you could’ve shown up!”

Me: “I’m amazed, too.”

Nurse #2: “Yeah, but this ain’t even the worst of it. One patient last year always ran his mouth. ‘I’m in for bestiality!’ ‘I’m a member of the local KKK and they think this’ll cure me!’ and on and on. All cause he didn’t want to admit he tried to kill himself after his girlfriend broke up with him.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Nurse #2: “Yeah, he just kept making excuses to justify the cuts on his arms.”

Me: “You can’t tell us that! His medical records are still privileged!”

(I’ve never been back. I haven’t looked it up yet, because I’m truly frightened that it might still be open.)


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Bad Breakup Means Bad Ice Breaker

, , , | Learning | July 27, 2018

(My girlfriend and I volunteer to help with nurse practical exams, which means we play the roles of various patients the nurses in training have to respond to. This leads to many interesting stories, but this one is the best. My girlfriend gets to play the role of a girl admitted to the ER after a suicide attempt following a bad breakup.)

Girlfriend: *jokingly to the examiner* “I hope they won’t pull the whole ‘plenty of fish in the sea’ line on me. I think that would only make things worse.”

Examiner: “They should have more common sense than that.”

(In comes the nurse in training, who, faced, with amateurishly fake crying, proceeds to give her every clichéd post-breakup line in the book. My girlfriend manages to make her fits of laughter pass as more crying, and it fools the guy well enough. To top it all off, he gives her her clothing without removing the belt, giving her everything she needs to hang herself in the scenario.)

Girlfriend: *after the nurse in training left* “Please tell me he failed.”

Crocodile Denial

, , , , | Related | July 26, 2018

(My older sister is playing with my young brother, who is around six or seven years old. My older sister decides they should race together across the field, so they hold hands and run. Somehow my brother trips very awkwardly and dislocates his shoulder. Since neither my sister or mother know how to set it, they take my brother, crying in pain, to the hospital, where they quickly put it back. However, since my brother is quite young, they need to ascertain, as per usual, whether there is the possibility there has been child abuse. They ask him repeatedly how he hurt his shoulder. He tells them what happened, but somehow they keep pressing the matter, as “I was running and I fell” probably sounds like a dubious answer. They ask him, talk for a bit, and then ask him again. Finally, he gets fed up with the whole thing.)

Medical Staff: “So, tell me again: how did you hurt your arm?”

Brother: “A crocodile bit it!

(They stopped asking him after that.)

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