The smell of alcohol and gas fumes tickle your nose. You've seen it a hundred times - you know you can drive faster than professional NASCAR drivers. Shoot - they only turn left and stop for gas. How hard can it be?
Tachometer is 2500RPMS. Okay -that's good. Speedometer - 101MPH. Holy cow! "These houses are flying by!" you think to yourself. "Look at these idiots! They are stopped in their cars, not moving, because they know I have more horsepower!"
"Wait! Why is this stopped car moving into my lane? He is stopped! No! Wait!
I am FLYING! In. The. Air!
Look at those people. They look like ants. Oh, wait. They are ants.
So hot. Am I on fire?"
Yes, yes you are, you idiot and you have just become a post in Lessons From the Trauma ER.
100+ miles per hour. Airborne vehicle. Unrestrained driver. Vehicle fire.
All I have to say about this, is that good thing he was plastered. He might have gotten hurt.
Comes to trauma. We get the trauma team assembled. Things are a bit crazy because we have 4 people from a plane crash coming our way and we have no information on them, yet. And, this genius wants to play "I'm not talking to you."
Asking questions such as "Can you open your eyes" is responded to with a mumbled "Fuck you." Nice.
Dr. Dawn (the one with the eye rolling disorder - poor thing) picks up the guy's arm and drops it on his head. Luckily, through a miracle of God, our rockstar was able to control and move his arm to avoid hitting his face. So, we know he can hear and isn't totally out of it.
Off to CT scan. The race car driver is moving like he is still airborne. Advise him that if he keeps moving he will be restrained. His response was too vulgar to post in this family blog.
What am I thinking? This is definitely not a family blog - if you are under 18 years old or have never heard cuss words before, listen up. Here we go.
"...you'll be restrained." "Fuck you, you faggot. Tie me up. I dare you. You fucking asshole. You can't tie me up. You can't restr....ZZZZZ"
CT done. Plane crash here. Other motor vehicle accidents. All beds full. Slipknot goes into the hall to be interviewed by highway patrol. He denies all actions, states he is innocent of all charges. Some other dude was driving. Humans can fly. Et cetera.
So, with stab wounds, plane crash patients and shooting peeps - no one is paying close attention to our NASCAR driver. That is not to say that he is being ignored. Not at all. The highway patrol is nearby, writing their report. Nurses, doctors, medics are walking to and fro. The patient is stable. And sleeping. And smelling like cheap whiskey.
When you come into trauma - the first thing we do is cut off your clothes. $90 Victoria's Secret bra - gone. $350 Lucky jeans - snip snip. I love my Leatherman Raptors (Still haven't gotten an endorsement deal - Come on Leatherman!) because they cut everything.
So, this guy was naked under the blanket. Nothing. Nada. And, since he was a genius, he decides to run. Out the door. Bye bye.
As I've said, I work in Las Vegas. Pretty much everything goes in Vegas. Nudity, while not the norm is not uncommon. But, when you are nude, running anywhere besides The Strip, people are going to notice you. They are going to see your drunken gait. Your blanket that is haphazardly wrapped around you. Your pale, white ass. You tripping and falling. Yep. People see stuff.
Captured. Naked. Parking garage. Handcuffs. Going to jail.
Maybe I didn't restrain you but highway patrol did. My restraints were more of the fluffy, pink kind compared to the cold steel of highway patrol.
But, you're right - Fuck Me!
{fade to sunset - trauma nurse walking to his car. Free as can be. With his clothes. Tasty adult beverage in his future.}
Until next time....
Tuesday, July 21, 2015
Saturday, July 18, 2015
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
Grandpa is a kinky dude
People ask me, now that I am an internationally know blogger - thank you
Thailand, Denmark and Australia for checking in - why I don't post more often.
The answer is simple. While the trauma ER is a very busy place. not everything
we deal with is caused by people being duuuuuuumb. Most of the stuff is serious
life and death stuff or while weird, there just isn't a story behind it.
For example - call comes in of a woman with burns to her legs. No big deal, except it is 10am and she suffered her burns at 2am - BBQing. Now everyone is placing bets that she was cooking methamphetamine and got burned that way. I, however, felt that the poor woman was probably an acclaimed bbq smoker, preparing her smoker for a long day of ribs and brisket. Nope, meth head, cooking right in my backyard. Whatever she was cooking on blew up and she got burned. Seriously? People, first off you are not Walter White, cooking in a RV. Nor, are you a chemist. Chances are you didn't pass high school. Finally, those tighty whiteys look ridiculous - go change. Neighbors, I'm looking at you a little more closely now. Open your mouth - do you have all your teeth?
So, as you can see, interesting but hardly blog worthy. There are probably a couple hundred websites and blogs that are about the blood and guts of a trauma ER. I want mine to be about the funny stuff that we see.
So, on to the funny. I also work in an Adult ER where we handle the everyday emergencies - heart attacks, stokes, broken bones, stomach pain and what not. I was discharging one of my patients - who thought they were dying and that I miraculously saved their life - when one of my coworkers said "DeepSea, can you help me with this Foley catheter." A Foley catheter is a tube placed up into the bladder that will drain the urine. The patient is an 80 something man who is having difficulty peeing. Just a normal looking grandfatherly guy. Someone who reads stories to the grand-kids. Someone who hits the early bird buffets. Someone who has 2 LARGE RINGS pierced into his penis AND several silver balls pieced into his balls. Now these rings weren’t the nice thin, hooped earrings women wear. These were the rings that you lead a bull around by his nose. They were HUGE! These rings were through the shaft of the penis. Being the curious sort, I asked why he didn’t have a Prince Albert, where the ring is placed through the head of the penis. He looked at me aghast and said “That would hurt!” Whaaaaaat?
All I could think of during this encounter was when my younger brother was in his early teens and wanted to get his ear pierced. It was the cool thing to do at the time. Lots of kids were doing it and my mother’s response was “Of course, no problem.” This, of course, floored all of us since this was so outside my mother’s normal course of action. I wasn’t allowed outside of the cul-de-sac without supervision until I was almost 30. The kicker, given to us after our jaws returned to their normal spot, was that he had to ask my grandfather. That effectively killed any chance of ear piercing. My grandfather was a 20 year FBI agent under the J. Edgar Hoover era. I never saw the man in anything but a suit. And he would fight you if you said anything about Hoover in a dress. Literally, fight to the death.And men do not wear earrings. Period.
So, what would life been like, if this kinky grandpa (who had had two dildoectomies in his medical past - again - whaaaaaat?) had been my grandfather? Would this have been my brother?
And as a Lesson From the Trauma ER - think about where you get your piercings. In addition to cutting all your clothes off (hence your mother's admission to wear clean underwear), we are going to have to remove ALL your piercings.
Enjoy! Be safe! Keep checking in and reading!
DeepSeaRN
PS - After a bit of research (for medical reasons, of course) Gramps had what is called a dydoe piercing in his penis and hafada piercing in his scrotum. Knowing is half the battle. The other half is working up the courage for someone to ram a large ring through your junk.
For example - call comes in of a woman with burns to her legs. No big deal, except it is 10am and she suffered her burns at 2am - BBQing. Now everyone is placing bets that she was cooking methamphetamine and got burned that way. I, however, felt that the poor woman was probably an acclaimed bbq smoker, preparing her smoker for a long day of ribs and brisket. Nope, meth head, cooking right in my backyard. Whatever she was cooking on blew up and she got burned. Seriously? People, first off you are not Walter White, cooking in a RV. Nor, are you a chemist. Chances are you didn't pass high school. Finally, those tighty whiteys look ridiculous - go change. Neighbors, I'm looking at you a little more closely now. Open your mouth - do you have all your teeth?
So, as you can see, interesting but hardly blog worthy. There are probably a couple hundred websites and blogs that are about the blood and guts of a trauma ER. I want mine to be about the funny stuff that we see.
So, on to the funny. I also work in an Adult ER where we handle the everyday emergencies - heart attacks, stokes, broken bones, stomach pain and what not. I was discharging one of my patients - who thought they were dying and that I miraculously saved their life - when one of my coworkers said "DeepSea, can you help me with this Foley catheter." A Foley catheter is a tube placed up into the bladder that will drain the urine. The patient is an 80 something man who is having difficulty peeing. Just a normal looking grandfatherly guy. Someone who reads stories to the grand-kids. Someone who hits the early bird buffets. Someone who has 2 LARGE RINGS pierced into his penis AND several silver balls pieced into his balls. Now these rings weren’t the nice thin, hooped earrings women wear. These were the rings that you lead a bull around by his nose. They were HUGE! These rings were through the shaft of the penis. Being the curious sort, I asked why he didn’t have a Prince Albert, where the ring is placed through the head of the penis. He looked at me aghast and said “That would hurt!” Whaaaaaat?
All I could think of during this encounter was when my younger brother was in his early teens and wanted to get his ear pierced. It was the cool thing to do at the time. Lots of kids were doing it and my mother’s response was “Of course, no problem.” This, of course, floored all of us since this was so outside my mother’s normal course of action. I wasn’t allowed outside of the cul-de-sac without supervision until I was almost 30. The kicker, given to us after our jaws returned to their normal spot, was that he had to ask my grandfather. That effectively killed any chance of ear piercing. My grandfather was a 20 year FBI agent under the J. Edgar Hoover era. I never saw the man in anything but a suit. And he would fight you if you said anything about Hoover in a dress. Literally, fight to the death.And men do not wear earrings. Period.
So, what would life been like, if this kinky grandpa (who had had two dildoectomies in his medical past - again - whaaaaaat?) had been my grandfather? Would this have been my brother?
And as a Lesson From the Trauma ER - think about where you get your piercings. In addition to cutting all your clothes off (hence your mother's admission to wear clean underwear), we are going to have to remove ALL your piercings.
Enjoy! Be safe! Keep checking in and reading!
DeepSeaRN
PS - After a bit of research (for medical reasons, of course) Gramps had what is called a dydoe piercing in his penis and hafada piercing in his scrotum. Knowing is half the battle. The other half is working up the courage for someone to ram a large ring through your junk.
Saturday, July 4, 2015
The "Cheers" of the Trauma Hospitals
It is Baby Doc time. A time when medical students have graduated, passed their boards and are now free to roam around making critical decisions. Such as, do you live or die so that I can learn what not to do next time. But, regardless of what I decide, I am going to strut around in, seriously?!? my tailored scrubs and try not to look as scared as I really am. I don't know why, but the junior male residents seem to have to prove something whereas the female baby docs are all baggy scrubs and pony tails.
I am a fairly new trauma nurse. I am finally getting to the point where I don't just stare at the gaping wounds, point and say "Duuuuuuuude that is gnarly." I know what I need to do, how to get the supplies I need and how to document what 15 people are saying to me - all at the same time. So, it is kinda fun to be the cock of the walk with the Baby Docs.
Now, as a disclaimer, I understand that you just spent 8 years and $150,000 getting to where you are. Props on 'ya. But as we said in the military - there is the school house way and the real world way. So, Baby Doc, shut yer yapper and watch and learn from this hard core trauma nurse.
It started with the preppie tailgating me on the way to work in his brand new, white BMW. My first thought was "Dude you suck" and my second was "See you in Trauma." Well, I wasn't far off since, considering his weaving in and out of traffic, tailgating and lane changes, he arrived in the parking lot 15 seconds before me. And, then instead of punching him in the face for driving like an idiot, I followed him into work. Yeah, Baby Doc!
Then we get the call that someone tried to fly and gravity took over (didn't we talk about this previously? She obviously didn't read my blog). Most of the residents gown up with xray garb, designed to block xrays, gloves, gowns for blood splatter and face shields. Nurses? We wear gloves. So, our BMW hero is running around, looking desperately for a face shield. "Where can I find a face mask?" he screams at me. Literally, a high falsetto. Now, we are 10 minutes until trauma time and this yahoo wants to face shield NOW! Looking around, Lab is sitting in a chair, playing on their phone. Xray is chatting on an empty bed. Pharm is talking about her night and the senior residents are trying to get last minute charting done. I'm making sure that I have IVs, warm fluid, warm blankets, my Leatherman Raptors, the greatest trauma shears ever (Come on #Leathermanraptors, comp me something) ready to cut leather, clothes or shoes, and my partner is getting her charting info ready. This guy wants a mask because all the Docs have one. I look at him, mournfully, and say "I don't know. I don't use them." The look on this guy's face was priceless. You would have thought I told him that he would fail residency if he did not find a face shield stat! Shoulders drooped, eyes down cast, this guy wanders off to suffer silently. But, he did get to do chest compressions - without a face shield - and survived. Truthfully, all I wanted to really tell him was "Slipknot, you aren't going to be doing anything but watching so please move out of my way and please find me a faceshield. I don't want blood all over me."
But, I will say that the new residents are trying to get to know the nurses. Hence the blog title. Work, today, felt like Cheers, the popular TV show where "everyone knows your name." I was Joe, John, Allen, and Scott. I felt loved.
A special shout out to Doctor Dawn, who, not knowing me, asked if I knew where something was. I nodded, smiled and told her "Of course I do. I not just another pretty face and ridiculously good looking but I am also a knowledgeable trauma nurse." She smiled and said "Yes you are but mostly you are ridiculously good looking ." Of course, her eye rolling is a rare genetic disorder that only 1 in 52 million people suffer from. Poor thing.
I am a fairly new trauma nurse. I am finally getting to the point where I don't just stare at the gaping wounds, point and say "Duuuuuuuude that is gnarly." I know what I need to do, how to get the supplies I need and how to document what 15 people are saying to me - all at the same time. So, it is kinda fun to be the cock of the walk with the Baby Docs.
Now, as a disclaimer, I understand that you just spent 8 years and $150,000 getting to where you are. Props on 'ya. But as we said in the military - there is the school house way and the real world way. So, Baby Doc, shut yer yapper and watch and learn from this hard core trauma nurse.
It started with the preppie tailgating me on the way to work in his brand new, white BMW. My first thought was "Dude you suck" and my second was "See you in Trauma." Well, I wasn't far off since, considering his weaving in and out of traffic, tailgating and lane changes, he arrived in the parking lot 15 seconds before me. And, then instead of punching him in the face for driving like an idiot, I followed him into work. Yeah, Baby Doc!
Then we get the call that someone tried to fly and gravity took over (didn't we talk about this previously? She obviously didn't read my blog). Most of the residents gown up with xray garb, designed to block xrays, gloves, gowns for blood splatter and face shields. Nurses? We wear gloves. So, our BMW hero is running around, looking desperately for a face shield. "Where can I find a face mask?" he screams at me. Literally, a high falsetto. Now, we are 10 minutes until trauma time and this yahoo wants to face shield NOW! Looking around, Lab is sitting in a chair, playing on their phone. Xray is chatting on an empty bed. Pharm is talking about her night and the senior residents are trying to get last minute charting done. I'm making sure that I have IVs, warm fluid, warm blankets, my Leatherman Raptors, the greatest trauma shears ever (Come on #Leathermanraptors, comp me something) ready to cut leather, clothes or shoes, and my partner is getting her charting info ready. This guy wants a mask because all the Docs have one. I look at him, mournfully, and say "I don't know. I don't use them." The look on this guy's face was priceless. You would have thought I told him that he would fail residency if he did not find a face shield stat! Shoulders drooped, eyes down cast, this guy wanders off to suffer silently. But, he did get to do chest compressions - without a face shield - and survived. Truthfully, all I wanted to really tell him was "Slipknot, you aren't going to be doing anything but watching so please move out of my way and please find me a faceshield. I don't want blood all over me."
But, I will say that the new residents are trying to get to know the nurses. Hence the blog title. Work, today, felt like Cheers, the popular TV show where "everyone knows your name." I was Joe, John, Allen, and Scott. I felt loved.
A special shout out to Doctor Dawn, who, not knowing me, asked if I knew where something was. I nodded, smiled and told her "Of course I do. I not just another pretty face and ridiculously good looking but I am also a knowledgeable trauma nurse." She smiled and said "Yes you are but mostly you are ridiculously good looking ." Of course, her eye rolling is a rare genetic disorder that only 1 in 52 million people suffer from. Poor thing.
Friday, July 3, 2015
Love (and a spastic colon) Is a Burning Thing
Ladies and Gentlemen,
Let's talk about burns. As I have said before - DO NOT WALK BAREFOOT ON THE STREET, PAVEMENT, POOL DECK OR ANYWHERE THE SUN SHINES during the summer months. Your feet will literally melt off and you will die. Maybe not die but you won't be able to wear shoes for a long time.
But there are other burns - va jay jay ones. We've talked about those. Nope these burns are the "No shit! Better get my hand out to measure one hand print is 1%" type of thing. And, I am going to need to metric butt ton of hands.
Saw two gnarly burns today. That being said, burn nurses are probably the toughest, most special nurses out there. Props to them.
The first burn was a dude who has a spastic colon?!? and woke up in the middle of night needing a bath. Ok, if you need a bath in the middle of the night due to spastic colon, you might need Depends and not a bath. Regardless, this genius decides he needs to wash the spasm away, starts the bath, cranking the temp to "maximum burn potential" and then falls back to sleep with his hand draped over the tub. Needs less to say, I will not be taking a bath for a very, very long time. Blisters, weeping stuff, sausage fingers, and pain to Nth degree, Just another simple joy washed away but working in the Trauma ER.
But the burn of the day award goes to the guy, cruising along in his golf cart style ATV. After an enjoyable day bee bopping around in the 108 degree temperatures, it is time to stable that bad boy. As this urban cowboy corrals his wild four wheel stallion in the garage, the wild beast catches FIRE! Stuck, the seat belt securely fastened, our hero struggles valiantly to free himself from his steed of steel. Will he succeed and not suffer burns over 18% of his body? Or will he not succeed and sustain burns over 18% of his body? Tune in next week for more exciting "Lessons from the Trauma ER."
Nah. Why wait? This dude frees himself from the burning vehicle, suffers burns over 18% of his body and in the interest of saving 2 classic cars (good choice, considering the cars) and his house, he pushes the burning ATV out of the garage. Right, Into. His. New. F. 350. Pick. Up. Truck. Which, predictably catches fire too.
Now with two burning vehicles, our hero notices his shirt is on fire. Whipping that off, the dude waits patiently for Fire to show up and extinguish the flames. Now, this isn't the story. It is just background to the greatest miracle of technology of our times. In this guy's shirt sat a Nokia cell phone. Not just any Nokia but a flip top. Rare these days. This powerhouse of technology, while mocked by Apple, Google and even the now defunct Blackberry, was severely burned. Suffering burns over 50% of its surface area, this little, can do phone was done for. Nothing could be done to save its melted cover. The phone was looking like a hot dog left on the grill too long. Wrinkled. Burned. Disfigured. But the story gets better. Severely wounded, Burns over most of its surface area. With the chance to live less than 5%, this little go getter STARTS TO RING! Disfigured, this little champion is still working. And it continues to place and receive calls. No one is sure how that is possible.
Magic?
Voodoo?
Regardless, I want one!
Let's talk about burns. As I have said before - DO NOT WALK BAREFOOT ON THE STREET, PAVEMENT, POOL DECK OR ANYWHERE THE SUN SHINES during the summer months. Your feet will literally melt off and you will die. Maybe not die but you won't be able to wear shoes for a long time.
But there are other burns - va jay jay ones. We've talked about those. Nope these burns are the "No shit! Better get my hand out to measure one hand print is 1%" type of thing. And, I am going to need to metric butt ton of hands.
Saw two gnarly burns today. That being said, burn nurses are probably the toughest, most special nurses out there. Props to them.
The first burn was a dude who has a spastic colon?!? and woke up in the middle of night needing a bath. Ok, if you need a bath in the middle of the night due to spastic colon, you might need Depends and not a bath. Regardless, this genius decides he needs to wash the spasm away, starts the bath, cranking the temp to "maximum burn potential" and then falls back to sleep with his hand draped over the tub. Needs less to say, I will not be taking a bath for a very, very long time. Blisters, weeping stuff, sausage fingers, and pain to Nth degree, Just another simple joy washed away but working in the Trauma ER.
But the burn of the day award goes to the guy, cruising along in his golf cart style ATV. After an enjoyable day bee bopping around in the 108 degree temperatures, it is time to stable that bad boy. As this urban cowboy corrals his wild four wheel stallion in the garage, the wild beast catches FIRE! Stuck, the seat belt securely fastened, our hero struggles valiantly to free himself from his steed of steel. Will he succeed and not suffer burns over 18% of his body? Or will he not succeed and sustain burns over 18% of his body? Tune in next week for more exciting "Lessons from the Trauma ER."
Nah. Why wait? This dude frees himself from the burning vehicle, suffers burns over 18% of his body and in the interest of saving 2 classic cars (good choice, considering the cars) and his house, he pushes the burning ATV out of the garage. Right, Into. His. New. F. 350. Pick. Up. Truck. Which, predictably catches fire too.
Now with two burning vehicles, our hero notices his shirt is on fire. Whipping that off, the dude waits patiently for Fire to show up and extinguish the flames. Now, this isn't the story. It is just background to the greatest miracle of technology of our times. In this guy's shirt sat a Nokia cell phone. Not just any Nokia but a flip top. Rare these days. This powerhouse of technology, while mocked by Apple, Google and even the now defunct Blackberry, was severely burned. Suffering burns over 50% of its surface area, this little, can do phone was done for. Nothing could be done to save its melted cover. The phone was looking like a hot dog left on the grill too long. Wrinkled. Burned. Disfigured. But the story gets better. Severely wounded, Burns over most of its surface area. With the chance to live less than 5%, this little go getter STARTS TO RING! Disfigured, this little champion is still working. And it continues to place and receive calls. No one is sure how that is possible.
Magic?
Voodoo?
Regardless, I want one!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)