Scarred for Life

**Disclaimer - If you are not a nurse, you may not want to read this. You could very well be scarred for life. No joke. You have been warned...**

It happened so quickly, I didn't have time to react. I stood there, as if frozen in time, unsure of what to do next. I couldn't just drop the patient and run for the hills, screaming in horror. He was my responsibility, after all. I was mortified and disgusted, but what could I do? So I held back a shriek, maintained my composure, and finished the task at hand, all the while fighting the urge to take steel wool to my face.

Seriously?!? This was how my work week was going to begin?

Up until that moment, I honestly thought I was ready to take on last week and all the craziness that comes with working in my hospital. After a few days off, and some much-needed pampering, I was recharged and rejuvenated. My head was clear. My outlook on life improved. I felt like a new woman, confident nothing could get me down. Ha. All that bravado went out the proverbial window almost as soon as I clocked in and hit the floor. No kidding, it took less than an hour to realize I was oh-so-very wrong. On this day, life, karma, whatever you want to call it, had other plans for me. I still haven't figured out what it wanted to teach me, but I am certain it wanted knock me down.

What could be so bad, you ask? I do work in an ICU, after all. I'm bound to run into some gnarly, stomach curdling stuff from time to time. And you're right, I do. I can stomach gunshot wounds, head traumas, and unbelievably gross abdominal wounds any day of the week. Bring them on. But this was much, much worse. I may even be scarred for life. That night, I was the one the other nurses were shaking their heads in sympathy for.

First off, let me set the stage for my drama. This was a comatose, end-stage renal failure patient. He was third-spacing and oozing from every inch of his skin. The little urine he was producing was thick, red, and smelled horrible. (See? I told you that you might not want to read this entry if you're not a nurse!) In short, he was really, really ill. He didn't have a good prognosis, so my goal was to keep him as clean as possible and as comfortable as possible during my shift. This is where the horror of all horrors comes into play.

I was cleaning him, with the assistance of my aid, getting him into a dry gown, and replacing the bodily-fluid-soaked linens with fresh ones. It happened when we turned him. It only took a second. There was really nothing I could have done to prevent it. As we rolled him to his side, there was a slight tug on his Foley catheter. Normally, this wouldn't mean a thing. But, this time, there was a defect in the catheter, and that one little tug led to disaster. The catheter came apart at the hub, allowing the concentrated urine to escape the tubing. Droplets of urine flew through the air, landing upon whatever surface was in their trajectory. Can you guess where they landed? Yup, quite unfortunately one of said surfaces was my lips. Yes, his blood-red, nasty, concentrated pee landed on my formerly clean, well-moisturized lips. It took a moment to register what had just happened. When it finally did, my eyes widened with shock and my stomach churned with disgust. But I couldn't just drop my patient. Doing so could harm him. So I wiped it off with the sleeve of my gown, finished caring for him, and then promptly scrubbed my lips with alcohol wipes. What else could I do? Sigh!

Bloody pee on my lips. That was a first. And, I pray to all that is holy, a last. Ugh. It's not blood or guts, but the thought of it makes me gag. And, even though I did my best to eradicate it from my skin, I'm convinced that it soaked in and I'm now contaminated. I'm going to live with this memory forever. Now do you see why I had such a bad night??? Thanks, karma.