Jessiedog

Don't worry sweetie, it happens to all of us. You will NEVER know everything, and most nurses will be happy to help you out until you understand the lingo of your current specialty. I've found the best policy is to honestly say Ï've never heard that abbreviation, could you explain" or something like that. If the other nurse refuses to help, it's on them, not you, for being unprofessional. By the way: I'm so glad this thread is continuing so well. I must have started it last year some time, and I've had some truly great laughs. It's true, that you don't have to be crazy to nurse, but it sure helps. Thanks guys.:yeah::yeah:

As a new & very nervous grad nurse, I was assisting with putting in a thoracic tube on the ward. I was responsible for holding the local, which came in glass ampoules. I dropped one, and it shattered on the floor. I sheepishly cleaned up. I crushed the next one between my fingers. The attending Physicial gave me a withering look, and commented "I wonder if it hurts if you cut yourself with a lignocaine ampoule?" as he took them out of my hands.....

One of my early codes, and I'd never pushed the Crash Cart before. Anyway, I was closest when the code went out, and adrenaline spurted. I grabbed that cart from the treatment room and barelled out. Bloody thing wouldn't move that well, so I pushed and pulled and did everything but pick it up and carry it, using all that adrenaline to my benefit. Out in the hallway I thought I'd get a good run up, and I did. So the cart goes over sideways, with me hanging onto one end of it trying to prevent the eventual crash. The cart hits the ground and I stand there looking at it, praying "I hope the defib still works!" A senior nurse sees my predicament and we lift the cart up together. She then calmly takes off the brakes, and competenly wheels it into the patient's room. Did I feel like a ninny!!:chair:

Good charting! Short, succinct, and relays the information needed.

Working several years ago in a rehab ward, we had one guy with a BKA due to poor circulation. The other foot wasn't faring so well, either. He'd ignored the warning signs of cool & dusky toes, and even the loss of sensation and then loss of movement. By the time he got to us, his entire foot was necrotic. But not moist necrotic; it was dry, solid necrotic. I swear you could tap on his foot, and get a hollow sound back! The foot halfway up the calf was solid, black, dead flesh!! I have never seen anything like it before or since. (and this was only my second year of nursing) The whole foot felt and sounded like a piece of black wood. If I'd grabbed a toe & tried to bend it, I KNOW it would have snapped off in my hand! Eeewwwww!!! The smell was interesting, too. This was when we only had four-bed rooms, so the old fella always had room-mates, although we did the best we could. The smell was a very sweet, all-pervading odour, kind of maple-syrupy, and not at all nasty or offensive unless you knew what the cause was. This, somehow, made it worse! That something that looked so horrible could almost smell nice! Anyway, the surgeon managing him wasn't quite sure that an amputation was warranted (duhhh ) so we were doing daily dressings. The entire foot and leg had to be dressed with parraffin-impregnated gauze, then non-stick dressings and bandages. This was the current treatment for necrosis, and worked well with a moist necrotic area. Trying to wrap parraffin gauze around this thing and:deadhorse hold it while bandaging was a complete waste of nursing effort, but we dutifully did it. After a couple of weeks, the amputation was performed, and the fella eventually went home with two prosthetic legs. The amazing thing was that with this dead limb attached for so long, he never developed any systemic problems, or even needed IV antibiotics! One of the 'wonders of modern medicine' ?

Thank the Lord in Heaven, this is a situation I have not experienced!! How embarassing!! How did you cope with nursing him for the rest of the shift??

We used to talk about a 'horrendoplasty'. This was an abdominal procedure that went horrendously wrong, with almost every complication you could name happening.

I can remember a few of these, and thought we'd all get a laugh from sharing. My most, most, MOST horrible one was this: Working in a 60-bed nursing home, I was caring for a gentleman with terminal cancer. He was having the two-hourly S/C morphine, two hourly pressure care, the whole bit. He had been Cheynne-Stoking off and on for the last 24 hours, and the family was with him as he began to depart this life. This morning I just knew that today was the day he would die. You just get that when you look at these people sometimes. There were four children, his wife, and several siblings around the bed, and I did my best to care for Stephen and his family, while not intruding too much on this painful moment. Came the time when he was due for he next dose of morphine and pressure care, my colleague and I had an intense discussion. Stephen was so far gone that I was concerned that he would die if we moved him, and I knew his family wanted to be with him for the moment of death. I delayed the pressure care for another hour, waiting for the inevitable. When Stephen was still going slowly, I decided that the need to move his emaciated body could not be put off much longer. I went to the bed, and explained to the family that Stephen really did need to be rolled onto his other side, and that we would be very quick. They all trooped out, and my colleague and I set to work. First we gave the morphine, then gently placed our arms under Stephen to roll him. He have a loud "Aaa....hhhhhhh.......a." and stopped breathing. Cursing under my breath at the timing, I waited for several minutes to be sure that this wasn't just another episode of Cheynne-Stoking. I even got my stethescope and checked for a heartbeat. Nothing. Feeling guilty and sad for the family, we settle Stephen onto his back, tidied him, and I went to break the news to the relatives. There was an understandable outpouring of cries and wails as they realized Stephen would never be with them again. They were not angry, just sad that he had finally gone. I stayed with them, and then offered to escort them into the room to say their last goodbyes. All 8 relatives, weeping, followed me into the room to see Stephen peacefully relaxed on his back. They crowded around, touching him, and I stepped back to give them room, tears in my own eyes as I shared their grief. To my shock and absolute horror, Stephen took one huge shuddering breath,...then another,...............and another! I stood there in utter shock, as this man 'came back from the dead'. The effect on his relatives was not pretty to watch. They were excited, happy, grieved, shocked, and confused. Again, they were not angry at me (must have been saints!), as I stood there watching. The only thing I could think of to say was "But he WAS dead!" :imbar (I'd verified it myself.) I waited until the family had settled somewhat, then backed out of the room. I felt about two inches tall, and utterly confused! I never wanted to look these people in the eye again. First I'd killed their dad, then told them he was dead and upset them all, then he came back to life!! I cried in the toilet for a while, as you do, then went back to the nurses desk. Several minutes later, all the family silently trooped out of the room and towards the front door. They were calm and collected, one detached from the group and came towards me. "He's gone now. He died about ten minutes after we went into the room. He just wanted to wait until we were all there before he went. That's why he came back for us all.":redpinkhe I have NEVER experienced embarrassment at that level in my life, before or sice!