...but slowly you are
So The Partner says, "Look at all of those trucks along the side of the road. Do you know what they're doing there?"
Were you worried Billy'd crossed over to the other side? Me too. I guess we were wrong. Today's New York Times sports a long-deserved and up-front review of the new album which is weirdly flattering and, at the same time, disparaging.
"I heard a mother had lost her son due to a suicide bomber, and she got up to speak, and she said a beautiful thing. She said, “Whether it’s a Talib who’s being killed, an Afghan policeman who’s being killed, or an international army military person who is being killed, he leaves behind a mother, a sister or a daughter and/or a wife who mourns for him.”
"So do you have men in other rooms studyin' about theirselves?"
I discharged my patient to a shelter yesterday with heparin induced thrombocytopenia recently “resolved” by argatroban (tx stopped 2 hours prior), but with no coumadin. I discharged him with a foley. I did so because I was told to do so by the doctor. I put up a totally meager fight and then sent him packing with Thursday’s copy of the New York Times that I’d brought from home, a bag with handles donated by the gift shop, a pair of flip flops and a sweat suit donated by social services, a walker donated by physical therapy and no clear idea of where he was going or how to care for himself. We just put him in a cab and sent him away.
Opinions expressed on this blog are experientially based opinions. Everyday goings on from the life of one mother, student, ABD*, Oldham fan, jobless, amateur circus performer.
Did I tell you that I inadvertently called the attending physician on Friday for blood pressure parameters for my patient's Cardizem? Learned my lesson about the hierarchy in a hurry. Yes, in fact, it was totally humiliating. And I'm not sure why, except that I didn't live it down in a hurry... And I did not get the damned parameters.
My mind is longer than any tree's branch.
In the doorway stands the nurse's aide looking frazzled and tired, rubber gloved, holding wipes in one hand, her pager in the other, towels tucked under each arm. Her nurse is consulting with a family member and a doc about discharge of another patient. “Sarah,” says the aide, “I need your help. Please.” The nurse gives her the, “I’m-busy-with-another-patient-I’ll-be-there-soon” look that means she could be there in ten minutes or two hours. Since I am only charting at the nurse’s station I offer a hand.
I enter the room and approach the patient in her bed. “Just turn her over, please” says Therese. So, I roll the patient toward me and Therese begins to clean her. All the while I’m talking to the patient, “You’re doing a great job, Mrs. L… Here, lean toward me… Just a little longer now…” I adjust her weight, moving my right hand from her torso to her leg and realize suddenly that her extremities are really cold. I place my left hand on her back and get my face down in her face. Not breathing. My ears feel red and hot. I scan the patient from head to toe. I look at the aide. She is madly cleaning the woman, paying me no mind. Suddenly it dawns on me: the aide knows that the patient is dead. In fact, I find out later, the patient had been dead for over an hour.
Why the aide didn’t apprise me of the situation upon my entering the room is totally beyond me. Why she didn’t say anything when she heard me talking, and, more specifically, giving instruction to, a corpse, is also a mystery. My theory is that she either thinks I am deeply spiritual, or she thinks I'm crazy.
It’s a strange world, the hospital. It makes me thankful for my deep and morbid sense of humor, finally serving me well.
If you know Bruno S. or even know of him, this* will be of interest. Particularly poignant is his rendering of Mamatschi.
Yesterday I said goodbye to my patient of the past two weeks, a man of great heart.
Thoroughly enjoying Yokai Monsters: 100 Monsters.
Welcome Perseus! (BKA: Percy.) Half dachshund, half chihuahua -- that's a chiweenie to you -- and the smartest dog on the planet.
