I hate pox machines. The client I'm with tonight has one that was already a relic when I started here over three years ago. Every shift (2-3x/week) it frequently and randomly decides to sing to me its hypoxic tune, although the sensor is new, attached well, and the client is pink and breathing fine. As soon as I start to feel a contemptuous complacency that it's a false alarm and that the client is just fine and I don't need to come running from the bathroom down the hall where I'm working up meds, I am reminded of "The Boy Who Cried Wolf" and remember I should respond to every alarm. so I drop what I'm doing and fly back to the room. Of course, he's still doing fine, and before my eyes, the pulse ox's display cheerfully bounces back up from 68 to 73 to 86 to 99 within 8 seconds. GAAAHHH!! I'm going to smash this thing! (The client is immobile, so it's not movement that causes it.)
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I hate pox machines. The client I'm with tonight has one that was already a relic when I started here over three years ago. Every shift (2-3x/week) it frequently and randomly decides to sing to me its hypoxic tune, although the sensor is new, attached well, and the client is pink and breathing fine. As soon as I start to feel a contemptuous complacency that it's a false alarm and that the client is just fine and I don't need to come running from the bathroom down the hall where I'm working up meds, I am reminded of "The Boy Who Cried Wolf" and remember I should respond to every alarm. so I drop what I'm doing and fly back to the room. Of course, he's still doing fine, and before my eyes, the pulse ox's display cheerfully bounces back up from 68 to 73 to 86 to 99 within 8 seconds. GAAAHHH!! I'm going to smash this thing! (The client is immobile, so it's not movement that causes it.)