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.

Rainy Days and Thursdays

I know I've mentioned this before, but I cannot help but reiterate how much I love a nice, grey, rainy day. If I weren't working tonight, I might be a little disappointed by today's turn in the weather, but since my only goal until 5pm is to sleep, this dreary day is a welcome break from the usual nonstop sun. The pitter-patter of each rain drop lulls me to sleep, urging me to burrow deeper into my blankets and shut out the surrounding world. The rain is my own, personal "hall pass" to stop feeling guilty about slumbering away my entire day. So, I'm going to take full advantage of this lovely fall day and sleep like a champ. In fact, my eyelids are already heavy...

Away From the Grind

Ahhh... I feel like a new woman. Two days off was just what I needed. Yes - I know. My prior level of exhaustion was my own fault. No one forced me to work all of those consecutive shifts. I've been a woman on a mission these past few weeks; a mission to work as much as possible. I have my reasons, of course. The extra money is nice. (And that's why I'm out here, right?) But, more than anything, I need to keep working so I don't have time to think about how much I miss my Mouse and my life back in Denver. But even a workaholic like me needs a couple of days to relax and unwind, which is exactly what I did.

Working so many nights in a row has a way of making me feel horrible about myself. Most of it can be attributed to my lack of sleep and jacked-up circadian rhythm. And I'm sure the 2am junk food intake doesn't help, either. But I also start to feel utterly antisocial. When I'm working, there is no time for me to hang out or catch up with my friends. I work and sleep, and that's about it, disappearing into the strange and twisted world of ICU-land. So, when I finally grant myself a couple of days off, I make sure to take full advantage, which is exactly what I did these past couple of days.

Knowing these were going to be the only two days of respite in my foreseeable future, I went for broke. I primped and pampered, treating myself to a haircut, facial, and massage. I went shopping. I drank wine with friends. I ate street tacos at the Huntington Beach Tuesday night market. I even managed to squeeze in a decently long run along the San Clemente beach. I couldn't have planned this mini-break better if I tried. These last two days provided a much-needed recharge for my mind, body, and soul.

Now that I've squeezed in all of my R&R, it's time to get back to the grind. I'm looking at another four grueling nights of dealing with the aftermath of car accidents, gang activity, and unchecked infections. Such is the life of an ICU nurse. But, this week, I'm ready for it. Bring on the sickies!

Another Crazy Night

Uh oh. I knew last night was going to be trouble the moment I stepped onto the floor. The air was just charged with that frantic tension that always seems to precede complete and utter chaos. I could see it in the day-shift nurses' eyes. I could sense it in the way they franticly scurried around, responding to alarms and paging their respective docs, rather than waiting patiently to give the change-of-shift report. The phones were ringing off the hook. Someone was barking at me to talk to a doc regarding a patient about which I knew nothing. In the background, as if to emphasize the symphony of catastrophe that was threatening to erupt, were the high-pitched wails of two patients on the verge of psychosis. And, oh yeah, it smelled like poo. Ahh... Welcome to the ICU.

It's nights like this that make me want to walk away before my shift even begins. I've been around long enough to sniff out a pending night from hell. I know I'm going to spend the shift putting out one fire after the next, chasing my own tail, and doing my best to keep the insanity simmering at a manageable level. I'm never going to sit, eating a meal will be an impossibility, and I'll be catching up on my charting long after my shift is over. Yup - I could foresee my future before I even had a chance to glance at my patients. And once I did, I knew my fait was sealed.

Of course, I was right. It was a bad night. I ran. I put out fires. I kept our intensivist up all night. But, ultimately, it turned out to be a halfway decent shift. Partially, because we caught things in time. Even more so, because I work with a great team. Yet, I couldn't help but breathe a really long sigh of relief when it was finally time to go home.

One night down. Only three more to go...

All Work, No Play

Wow. I just powered through five twelve-hour night shifts, which is never an easy feat. I've felt like a zombie nearly the entire time, making my way through each night as if I'm one of the walking dead. I'm pretty sure, by the end of last night's shift, my eyes were glazed over from total lack of sleep; my pupils fixed and dilated just like a neuro case gone bad. My throat hurts. My back aches. Even more depressing is the way my feet and ankles have morphed into the ever-so-attractive tankle-ish look. But, despite the wear and tear on my body, and my complete and utter exhaustion, I feel good. I feel useful and accomplished. I finally did exactly what I came out here to do - work hard.

I knew this is what I needed, less play and more work. It's a rare occasion when I feel this way, but too much idle time can sometimes be my enemy. Early last week, I caught myself slipping into a deep funk. I just couldn't shake the loneliness of missing my Mouse and my life back in Denver. Self-doubt had set in, making me wonder if I had made the right decision in coming back to SoCal. Not that my feelings weren't valid, or my introspection absurd, but I definitely had way too much time to brood. So, I did the most logical thing I could. I threw myself into work.

One week later, here I am, exhausted but content. I'm too tired to worry about the "what ifs". And I'm actually relieved to have a bed all to myself. (And by bed, I mean either air mattress or camp cot, depending upon which friend I'm bunking with.)

So this is my new plan. I'm going to keep myself so busy I won't have time to think about all the negatives. I'm going to work. I'm going to run. And I'm definitely going to make sure I have things planned on my off days. (Oh - and I definitely have some fun husband-and-puppy-filled weekends in the works.) If I can keep that up, my thirteen weeks will be up before I know it. Yup, I can definitely do this.