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The Bone Isn’t The Only Thing Broken Around Here

, , , , , | Healthy | January 15, 2018

(I fall in my house while holding my two-year-old. As I fall, I turn my body to hold her against the wall so I do not crush her, and as a result, end up with a spiral fracture on my fibula, and a broken and dislocated ankle. When I arrive at the hospital, they try to wrench my ankle back into place but don’t quite align it, so they have to do it again. Of course, this time I know it’s coming, so they decide to use some sort of anesthesia that is meant to make the patient woozy and forget what happened. I’m concerned about whether this will work, and express that concern to the nurse preparing me for the injection.)

Nurse: “Don’t worry; you won’t remember a thing! It probably won’t hurt, either.”

Me: “Can’t you just use this with some actual pain medicine, too?”

(The only pain medicine I’ve received at ALL has been two doses of Fentanyl administered by the paramedics, an hour ago. Fentanyl at the dose I was given lasts 20 minutes, tops.)

Nurse: “Look: you won’t remember, and you won’t feel anything. The only time you might feel something is if I pricked you with a pin, or something!” *he says this as though he’s a genius for thinking of this persuasive argument*

Me: “You mean like the kind of pain I’d feel if someone was moving around my dislocated ankle?!”

(I remembered everything. They also acted like they were doing me a massive favor in keeping me overnight instead of sending me home with three broken bones before surgery the next day. I finally got pain medicine six hours later at the room they begrudgingly gave me, and the call button didn’t work! I had to call my own room phone number with my cell phone and let it ring until a nurse came, because I couldn’t find the nurse’s station phone number!)

Nurses Are Hard-Working Before They Are Nurses

, , , | Learning | December 12, 2017

(I work at a training school for LPNs – the level of nurse below Registered Nurses. One day one of my students is feeling ill, and throws up in the bathroom. After she is finished, she goes to the secretary to explain why she is leaving school early.)

Student: “Hey, I just vomited so I’m going home for the rest of the day.”

Secretary: “I’m sorry to hear that! You go home and feel better. I’ll tell our custodian to take care of the mess.”

Student: “Oh, I already cleaned it up; just tell him he needs to sanitize the handicapped stall really well. I would have done that, too, but didn’t have the supplies for it.”

(The secretary told me later that when she told our custodian what the student had said, he replied, “This is why I love working at a nursing school – easiest job ever!”)

Death By Chocolate Is A Happy Death

, , , , , , | Working | December 11, 2017

It was my great-grandma’s 103rd birthday, and the family had gathered for a small celebration. By that point she had several health problems, including having a breast and a leg amputated because of cancer, having a foot amputated because of adult-onset diabetes, general difficulty with hearing and sight, and a tendency to have her mind wander quite badly. At one point, she seemed to notice the party happening and asked for a piece of cake, which my cousin and I cut and attempted to serve her.

One of the nurses who worked there came rushing out, smacked the plate out of my cousin’s hand, smacked the fork out of mine, and started yelling about how our great-grandma couldn’t have cake; she was diabetic, it might make her sick, etc.  

After a bit of a fight, which left my great-grandma crying, the nurse wheeled her away to her room, told us she could only have one visitor at time in there, and we would have to pack up to start leaving. As everyone was packing up, my cousin and I snuck a piece of cake to our great-grandma’s room and helped her eat it, which made her stop crying and start to smile. As we were leaving, the same nurse caught us and gave us a big ticking off, with the final shot, “You could have killed her.”

She’s 103 already; if she wants cake, she can have cake. If she wants a lap dance and some heroin, she can have that, too. It’s better to die of cake at 103 than to sit in your room by yourself crying on your birthday!

A Pox On Your Assumptions!

, , , , | Working | September 14, 2017

(I’ve always been a naturally skinny girl. When I was 17, I got chickenpox and lost a lot of weight, because they were in my throat. I spent a year after that trying very hard to gain weight, but couldn’t. I am very weak and frail when I go to summer camp. I have a doctor’s note saying I shouldn’t play the games, because they get very rough and I could get hurt. One day, I notice I have a large spot in the back of my throat, resembling a canker sore, so I go to the nurse’s station.)

Me: “Hey, I have a white spot on the back of my throat. It hurts and makes it hard to eat. Do you have anything that can help?”

Nurses: “We have some throat numbing spray. And we can give you some ibuprofen. But we’ve seen this before, and we’re going to monitor you closely now, to make sure you stop throwing up.”

Me: “Excuse me? I’m not throwing up.”

Nurses: “This only happens to girls who are bulimic. You’re too skinny. You need to eat and not throw up.”

Me: “I do eat! I’m only this skinny because of chickenpox! I’m actually trying to gain weight!”

(They wouldn’t believe me, no matter what I said. I’ve never had an eating disorder, and I didn’t like how closely they monitored my eating, because some of the camp food didn’t taste good, but they made me eat more than I wanted to.)

IOU One IUD

, , , , , | Working | September 8, 2017

(I’m at the doctor’s office with my mother and five-month-old daughter. Due to having my daughter prematurely, then battling an illness, an infection, and an open wound for two months, I’m finally able to talk to my doctor about how I have healed after my c-section, along with birth control.)

Me: “You sure about this, Mom?”

Mom: “Yes, I had one, and it worked beautifully.”

Me: “I just don’t know…”

Nurse: *walks in*

Me: “I’m a bit nervous to get a IUD.”

Nurse: “Oh, you don’t want that.”

Me: “…I don’t?”

Nurse: “No, those things are hell. They hurt, they ruin your uterus, and they can cause you to lose it. Oh, and they can embed themselves and requires surgery to be removed.”

Me: “W-What?!”

Mom: “Hey!”

Nurse: “Besides, you’re breastfeeding. That’ll keep you from getting pregnant.”

Mom: *dryly* “No… it doesn’t, dear. I got pregnant with my youngest while I was nursing my third child.”

Me: “…No. I want the IUD. And I’m not currently nursing… I don’t produce enough.”

Nurse: “I suggest the pill, or keep your legs shut.” *glares at me*

Me: “Excuse you! For one thing, I don’t do well with pills; I forget them very easily! For another, it doesn’t matter to you what I do with my sex life, let alone what direction my legs go.”

Nurse: “Then get the shot!”

Me: “Um, no. With the shot, I hit up so many negative side effects that it’s just not worth it. May I talk to another nurse?”

Nurse: “No, I’m your nurse. Then just get your tubes tied!”

Me: “No. I am not ready to decide not to have any more children at all at this time, despite being scared to have another. It doesn’t feel right. I want the IUD.”

Nurse: “You do not! I’ll put you down for the shot.” *leaves the room*

Me: “No! Mom!”

Mom: “Here. Take your baby. I have an a** to beat.” *leaves the room*

(I sit in the room for only a few minutes, holding and feeding my daughter, when I hear my mother yelling at another nurse. At this point, I can only assume it is the same one. While that is going on, and my daughter has drained her bottle, my doctor walks in.)

Doctor: “I assume that is your mother.”

Me: “Good call.”

Doctor: “Wow! She is big! Healthy little girl. May I?”

Me: “Absolutely!”

Doctor: *holding my daughter* “All right. I see here you want the shot? I thought we agreed on the IUD?”

Me: “We did… apparently the nurse was hell-bent on not letting me get it. She was more than rude, not taking no for an answer, and she scared me with the side effects.”

Doctor: “The side effects really don’t happen often. I’ve yet to see them myself to be honest. I think it’s the best choice for you. Let me go get a different nurse, and we’ll insert the IUD. Here’s your baby. She’s beautiful, and a miracle.”

(I got my IUD, and the nurse wound up fired. Apparently this wasn’t the first time. Nor was it the first time my mother went after a nurse during this whole ordeal. It’s been over a year, and no terrible side effects yet!)