ER RN

“Penile trauma secondary to self-catheterizing with automotive tubing.”

1. We like what we do, but sometimes we complain because a lot of people are just total jerks.

2. We have the biggest bladders known to man.

3. On a 0-10 pain scale, 10 would imply it’s the absolute worse pain you’ve ever had in your whole life. (Like a rogue bear just ripped your arm off.)

4. We could probably diagnose you based on what your poop smells like.

5. Subsequently, nurses can’t “diagnose.” It’s not that we want to keep secrets; it’s the law.

6. We go home and still smell pee.

7.  We hate the beep of the IV pump as much as you do… probably more.

8. We’re not waitresses, babysitters or family counselors. The hospital is not the set of the Jerry Springer show.

9. We want to hit the vein the first time just as much as you want us to.

10. It’s not that we couldn’t be a doctor; we didn’t want to.

11. You’re not our only patient. We wish you were.

12. Nobody likes to clean up poop, but we do it for the patient because we care.

13. Cleaning up poop isn’t all we do.

14. Speaking of poop; no one’s health has been negatively impacted by not pooping every single day.

15. You’d be surprised how much we have to know to not accidentally kill you. Like, it’s crazy.

16. Antibiotics are useless for viral infections such as the common cold.

17. We like to eat lunch, and sometimes we get to.

18. We are unable to read your doctor’s mind. We can get really close, but the second we tell you “blue” they’ll say “red.” So don’t ask us to try.

19. Most of us have lost someone, too. We get it.

20. We don’t make as much money as you think.

21. We joke around as a means of coping with stress, anxiety or grief.

22. We believe what you tell us, but medtox lab results don’t lie. Just saying.

23. Just gonna leave this here:

This is the definition of allergic reaction: A drug allergy is the abnormal reaction of your immune system to a medication. The most common signs and symptoms of drug allergy are hives, rash or fever. A drug allergy is not the same as drug side effects, such as constipation or drowsiness.

24. “I can’t breathe” would imply you cannot talk or maintain consciousness. If you cannot breathe I will stick a tube down your throat to breathe for you.

25. Everyone has a temperature. If you do not you are deceased.

26. An elevated temperature is called a fever. This is a natural mechanism to fight illness.

27. We don’t usually have to work five days a week. We’re so lucky. Instead, we work a string of grueling, exhausting 13-hour days. We also work most holidays with little to no compensation for the fact.

28. Going to the ER (Emergency Room) suggests you have an emergency. Emergencies require immediate assistance or you may die. Refills, colds, or any rash without an interference of breathing (see above for “can’t breathe) are not typically considered emergencies.

29. We like breaks. Sometimes we get to take them. Please understand.

“Tracing a patient”…Did one nurse work harder than the other?

7;14am (ER) Pt came in unresponsive, s/p MVA, you’re his nurse, you’ve barely put down your bag, or gotten a chance to look at the assignment for the day when the charge nurse yells, “yours!” So you follow the stretcher into the trauma room. You’re a bit irritated, as you didn’t have a chance to check the room first, but you’re sort of hoping the night shift took care of it..they didn’t, you later find out, they were slammed with back to back traumas, and you aren’t really annoyed, since you understand all too well that feeling, but your day starts off as hit the ground running. You work fast to get the patient stabilized, the room a destruction zone by the time you’re ready to roll to the OR - you don’t look back, you haven’t got time to clean and reset, you don’t have time to check off the miniscule details in the chart you know the OR, or ICU will give you a hard time for later. Your concern is with keeping your patient alive and getting them stable enough for transfer, and you breathe a sigh of relief once you hand the patient over to the OR nurse. Onto the next.

2:19pm (OR) Damn the ER. The patient has a central line that looks like it’s half hanging out, and none of the meds are signed. You’re the nurse assigned, you’ve just come in to help out since they were short staffed. You’re on trauma today, and you sort of wish you weren’t. These patients need more than the 1 nurse that’s assigned today, although if you ask any other nurse in the hospital you’re likely to get “OR nurses have it so easy, one patient.” You wish they would spend a day in the OR, see how many egos you’ve got to straddle here, the surgeon, the anesthesiologist, the residents, the students. It’s small room with everyone almost tripping over each other trying to work, or see. It’s a headache, on top of the responsibility of the patient. By the time the anesthesiologist is wheeling the patient out, you’re exhausted, and it was only your first case. You look back over the room of destruction, but you don’t have time to clean it, there’s another trauma being wheeled into the next ready OR. Onto the next.

7:19pm (ICU) YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING. What is wrong with the OR? You’re the ICU nurse assigned to the trauma patient, s/p MVA. You just walked in, and you spot the assignment which says first admission, you. So you throw your bag in the nearest filing cabinet, slug back your coffee, and you trail after the stretcher. Typical of the OR, the patient is in a damn mess. The lines are all tangled, the sheets bloody, the A line not secured, the dressing to the head already saturated. Plus the patient needs to go to CT in 30 minutes. Your coworker next door begins to help, but the charge nurse is yelling at her to move, since she has a transfer she needs to move fast to the med surg floor, who without a doubt will complain about getting a patient at change of shift - but she doesn’t have a choice, the second trauma from the OR is about to roll into her room, and she needs to move quick. You step back a moment, survey the destruction that has come to you from the OR, and you breathe in, moving fast to re-stabilize the patient. When you’re done, you pause to look down at the patient, cleaned, neatly tucked in the bed, intubated, sedated with propofol, pain controlled with fentanyl, three different vasoactive medications, Sodium bicarb, and, blood transfusing. Lines marked for clarity and in the event of an emergency you will trace what goes where. Central line and A Line sutured in place. You look down, and you breathe in again, and you move to help your coworker who just got an admission. Onto the next.