Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Huzzah. Nnnng.

This is post #350. Huzzah. Nnnng.

Meh. That's all I have to say today: meh.

This morning's workout didn't go all that well, and then Chef Boy added insult to injury by guilting me about not wanting to go to the pool with his kids. Never mind that I was surrounded by pots, pans, half-empty jars of spices I've not used in a couple of years, and a few plastic and Pyrex containers I'd never seen before. I was cleaning out the kitchen cabinets, obviously, and not in any shape to trot into a swimsuit and go to an indoor pool.

Meh.

The crazies have come out of the darkness at work. They're all lined up in the chairs in the family waiting room: from the person who wants gait training for her semi-vegetative daughter (who's been like that for, oh, about twelve years now) to the family member who insists that she *will* read her husband's chart *whenever* she likes, they're all there. If they're not there, they're getting underfoot, attempting to 'help' with things like moving people, changing dressings, or (I kid you not) inserting central lines.

Note to crazies: your daughter hasn't bothered to open her eyes except to pain for twelve years. Gait training is not a possibility. Also, you may *not* read the chart, it's against the rules. And finally, if a resident is putting in a central line or lumbar drain, or if I'm putting in a Foley catheter, the last thing we need is your grimy little paw in our way.

To those of you nice enough to send me links and do your own trackbacks: I promise, promise, *promise* I will get to blogrolling you either tomorrow afternoon or this weekend, whichever can provide more coffee and chocolate. I'm terrible about updating things, I know, and I plan to do a major update...sometime soon. Promise. Really.

Nnnng. Meh. Blar.

I think I'll cook today. That'll make me feel better, having a clean and well-organized kitchen with good and happy and well-cooked food in the fridge.

But first I'm going to go chew my cuticles and say "meh" some more.

5 comments:

Judy said...

When my hubby had his CABG several years ago, I was one of those nightmare people. The first time the dressing fell off his leg, I replaced it - and chased his nurse down to show her the old one.

After that, I just told him or her how often I was changing the dressing, what the incision looked like, and what sort of drainage hubby was having.

I didn't ask to read the chart, though. I just asked for details. Lots of details. 3 days post-op, they decided they'd had enough and let him go home.

Anonymous said...

It's a full moon and we all know what that does to patients and families. Plus, it's spring/summer and a world bursting with life and color and amazing flowers almost always rips families a new guilt hole. Not that any of this makes our job any easier, but all we can do is put up with it and curse that big, old round moon.

Tiesha said...

Good for you! If I tried to clean my kitchen like that, I would probably be lost forever in the rubble!

Jo said...

I actually really like the "nightmare" family members--the ones who ask lots of questions and want to be involved. Ditto "troublesome" patients. It makes my job a lot easier if somebody actually cares what's going on.

I draw the line at reading the chart, though. Details are good, explanations are good, I'm all about printing out lab results. Chart-reading, though, could get all of us in serious trouble with the privacy peeps.

legal-nurse-consultant said...

I just did a big ktichen cleaning in prepartion for a move. Nightmare!