#sure did

Now imagine: the height of COVID, December of 2020. (About two weeks before COVID takes V out of work for almost 3 weeks…). New nurse V is a few months off orientation. She’s still getting her nurse legs, slowly gaining confidence.

A gentleman, whom we shall call John for this story to protect his identity, comes to the hospital to get his ankle fixed. The story of how he messed it up is not important. What is important is he’s being treated by one of our specialty orthopedic doctors (and her team) which just so conveniently happens to (at the time) not be in house over night. So, if any nurse were to need said ortho residents, we would have to page and wake them up and they’d have to call us.

John was a great patient. Lively. Funny. Had stories to tell. Kept lil baby nurse V entertained. So she assesses him around 8pm. Then she medicates him around 9pm. Does another neurovascular assessment on John’s surgical site around midnight, as per policy. John’s feeling good, got some pain meds, goes to sleep.

Now, as per patient request, John wants to sleep from midnight to four AM, when the next set of vitals and vascular checks are due. Baby nurse V says dope I can do that. Your vitals are great, limb is doing good (good pulses, it’s pink, soft, he’s got feeling etc etc), I’ll see you in 4hours buddy.

Four AM comes around, V goes in. The lights are off because who would want bright ass hospital lights turned on at that hour. V says heyo john! Time for vitals. John, he starts giggling. V asks if he’s feeling alright, and he says yeah, he was just having some wicked dreams. No problem, right?

Wrong.

John’s blood pressure is 80/50, which is markedly down from his 140/90 at bedtime.

Uh-oh, not bueno.

So V turns on the light. John looks pale as hell. He’s obviously seen a hospital ghost, right?

Wrong again.

John’s foot, the entirety of the bottom of the bed, and a decent amount of the floor is covered in blood.

:)

Fuck.

John starts singing the Flintstones theme song. He is now delirious from the blood loss. At least he’s being a champ about it.

There’s a coagulated pool of blood in the metal frame of the bed. It reminds V of a liver as she picks it up. She tries not to slip on the blood on the floor as she’s doing stuff.

V calls for help, calls a rapid.

Did I mention it was December? Did I mention there was a solid amount of snow outside which meant doctors are scarce?

So one doctor shows up for this rapid response. V also threw a page out to the ortho resident. Ortho calls back, says OOP I’m 30min out. It’s snowing again. Be there soon!

Rapid doc is a baby doc. Looks at V like????? Ummmmm.

So V recommends getting some labs sent, getting some fluids started, and getting type and screen done so John can absolutely get some more blood. Since, ya know, half of his is on the floor.

V gets all of that going, another nurse medicates all of V’s other patients. We love her.

Ortho resident shows up. Sweaty, bottom of his scrub pants soaked and coated in sidewalk salt. He starts to unwrap the surgical dressing.

Blood continues to pour out of John’s leg, continuing to soak the sheets, the pads that V put down, the floor.

The dressing is taken completely off.

Poor John is somehow bleeding profusely from a literal pinhole in his ankle between two sutures. It’s gushing like oil from a hole in a tanker. Imagine a steady arterial spray but out of a hole the size of a ballpoint pen tip.

You would think that blood cannot gush from a hole that size, but you’d be wrong.

Ortho doc does ortho things. Blood stops. V finishes the labs, the fluids, and making sure John doesn’t pass out.

V realizes it’s been a total of 3 hours in that room. Time moves differently when patients are singing 90s theme songs, I suppose.

Day shift arrives. V breathes for the first time in hours.

Shift report is done. John gets blood. Stabilizes. Goes home the next day.

V dreams of personified coagulated blood forms singing the Scooby Doo theme song.