Took Daddy this morning to have spinal shots, hoping it eases the pain of the stenosis. Hate to think of him living the rest of his years with this pain, but honestly, I don’t think he’d come out of surgery with positive results either.
Work is still full tilt.
I’ve had no further offers for jobs as hookers, nobody has nearly croaked (lately), I’ve had one complaint against me and two calls raving about excellent care. The report against me was related to finding a little guy with a BP of 72/48. I sent him to the ER since I couldn’t get his MD on the phone and did so according to office protocol. There was nothing I could do for him in the field and he got 2000 ml of fluids at the hospital, confirming what I knew- he was dehydrated. The family still bitched that he was exposed to too many germs in the hospital to have been “no worse than he was”.
Boo fuckem. I’ll send him back again if I find him tachy, hypotensive and dry as a chip.
One of the rave reviews was from a family whose dad I sent to the ER for probable pneumonia. The MD had the idea that he’d “lived a long and full life” and wasn’t real big on the idea of treating him for the pneumonia. I called bullshit and asked if he’d like me to decide when *he* had lived *enough*. Aggressive pneumonia treatment was initiated and my patient came home a brand new man. He’s back from being unable to transfer from bed to wheel chair to walking in the yard, petting his chickens.
The other was just a family bragging on how I actually listened to them, their concerns and actually seemed to care.
Yeah….well, that’s ’cause I DO care.
The book progresses slowly. Between working last weekend and a family reunion, I only got about a chapter and a half written. I’ll get there, though.😉
Here’s an excerpt from Chapter One, just to peak your interest…
Sighing, she lit another cigarette. The annoying voice from the GPS announced her turn coming up in three quarters of a mile. She picked up her cellphone and called her first patient.
“Good morning, Miss Louise! This is Katie, your nurse. How are you this morning?” She listened to the elderly lady give her a laundry list of aches and pains. Somewhere between slight constipation and hot flashes, Katie interrupted. “I’ll be there in about five minutes, Miss Louise. Put the dog in the back bedroom if you don’t mind, I’m not wanting to get bit first thing this morning.” She called her next five patients and gave them a fairly accurate time of arrival. She didn’t call Mr. Bud though. If he knew when she was coming, he’d spruce up the boudoir, in a feeble attempt to create a love nest to lure her into.
As if, you old goat, she thought.
She rolled into Miss Louise’s yard four minutes and thirty seconds later. Smoothing her white nursing uniform, she grabbed her bag and went to the door. Miss Louise’s rabid terrier announced her arrival in shrill fashion. With Precious locked away in the spare bedroom, Miss Louise opened the door, allowing Katie in. The visit was uneventful. Miss Louise loved to complain, but rarely had anything of merit to complain about.
Katie yawned. She tried to pretend it was because she hadn’t slept well the night before, but in all honesty, Miss Louise’s story of how her son, Horace, had shot at someone trespassing on their property was boring her beyond belief. It wasn’t like it was the first time she’d heard the tale and it had happened 43 years ago.
She glanced at the clock behind Miss Louise. She had 15 minutes to get to her next patient on time. “Well, Miss Louise. You’ve checked out a-okay. I pronounce you fit-as-a-fiddle until I come back next week. Now, you remember what I taught you about your medications and remember my #1 Rule: No falling!” Miss Louise laughed, promised to follow the rules and hugged Katie bye.
She worked through her next four patients, dispensing nursing education and advice, love and understanding to each patient, no matter their situation. It had been a good morning. Nobody was about to draw their last breath, nobody had any new pressure wounds or croupy lungs. Her patients were about as healthy as one could expect, considering their baseline ailments and frailties.
Her sixth patient wasn’t one of her favorites, but at least he wasn’t Mr. Bud. When she’d first learned of Mabry’s Guardian Home for Men, she’d been apprehensive. It sounded like a halfway house for bums and alcoholics. It turned out to be a home for bums and recovering drug addicts. Alcohol was no longer the drug of choice. Despite her apprehension, she always went in with a smile. Most of the residents returned the smile, there were a few who would leer from behind cracked doors and a few who just blankly stared.
Fred was one of the blank starers. She’d seen him three times before and despite the blank stare and flat affect, he’d always been cooperative. Too many hits from the crack pipe and too many bad trips had left him quiet and withdrawn mentally and physically, a “lump” as she and her colleagues referred to those who just sat. Katie went through her assessment questions, sometimes getting a yes or no, sometimes just getting a quick nod. Fred wasn’t one for conversation usually and today was no exception. She’d checked his temperature, listened to his heart and lungs and turned to get her blood pressure cuff from her kit.
Just as she’d begun to turn back around, Katie heard an almost animal sound coming from Fred as he bum-rushed her, driving his head into her left flank. Caught totally off guard and unprepared, Katie fell backwards, hard into the concrete wall of his room. The instant pain in her ribcage, nor the sickening sound of her head thudding against the concrete were enough to keep blackness from enveloping her. A second before she hit the floor, the two house attendants wrestled Fred back into his chair and hollered for someone to call 911.