mawwriter

StacieRN and everyone else who commented -- Thanks! Thank you, too, StacieRN, for stopping by the site. This is a wonderful community you nurses of every ilk have created. Any other professional group would be envious if they could see how you interact and help each other. Even strangers! Thanks!

StacieRN, thank you. Of course, I know that not everybody's response would be identical, but I did make adjustments because I want everything to be fairly authentic. I won't post the whole thing here again, so I hope this link works for anybody who would like to read it (I would appreciate the feedback!). This story has not required much research, but the part that does, I want to get right. Here it is (no pop-ups or ads or any malarkey like that): http://storyblog.markwill.com/2008/03/05/bernie-part-eleven/

Thanks to all who posted replies. I was ready to publish (I'm posting it online as I write it, first draft), so I quickly took all your input and re-worked this chapter. Here it stands: Bernie felt she was being carried, cradled like a baby. Warm air hit her face in short, rhythmic bursts-is that someone breathing?-but she couldn't open her eyes. Cold and pain wracked her body, and then all feeling disappeared. ----- Now she was lying on her back, dull pain in her chest and an unfamiliar fullness in her mouth and throat. She felt like she was suffocating. Her arms felt like lead, and she realized when she tried to lift them that her wrists were restrained. Unable to draw her own breath, she broke out in sweat and her heart raced. She arched her back and then felt restraints on her ankles, too. She tried to shout, "Help!" but got nothing, not even a hoorifice yell. Her hearing aids were not in. A nurse rushed over with a syringe and injected it into a tube leading into an IV. Bernie's vision faded and everything went dark. ----- A dull ache came from the base of her throat. Tiled drop ceiling loomed overhead. The unnatural smell of hospital washed over her, but when she tried to hold her breath, somehow she was still breathing. Where am I? What's going on? With a hazy memory of an earlier episode, she tried to move and felt the tug of soft straps lashing her arms and legs to the bed. Her mind raced with questions. Why did Jeff attack me? Is Glenda dead? Where is Shonda? She sobbed and felt her heart pounding. Suddenly three nurses surrounded her. On all their faces she saw surprise, delight, concern, and determination. They were working quickly, apparently toward a common goal. One said more than the others and seemed to be in charge, but the only thing Bernie could read from her lips was, "bee pee." A nurse held up a syringe, pushed the air bubbles out, and turned her back to Bernie. No, not again. Her eyes fluttered closed. ----- Bernie woke up uncomfortable and confused. She didn't know how much had been a dream. Did Jeff stab me? Despite her questions and the inability to so much as scratch her own nose, she staved off panic. She couldn't remember the medical term, but she knew there was a breathing tube inserted directly into her neck. Her mind pulled up George Clooney on "ER" blowing into the end of Bic pen he had just inserted into a boy's neck. She licked her lips. It had never felt so good. Where is everybody? "Hello?" she croaked. In rushed a young woman, maybe 30 years old, with dirty blonde hair cropped level with her jawline. She wore dark green scrubs and white SAS shoes. A stethoscope draped over her neck. She flashed Bernie a wide, welcoming smile. Clumps of mascara clung to her eyelashes and her rouge verged on clown makeup. Bernie read "Ms. Maven," from her lips, but the rest was gibberish, so she just stared at her and tried to pick out her words. The nurse grabbed her hand and started patting it. "Ms. Maven," and then more words Bernie could not decipher. She put her hand under Bernie's and pooched her lips out for what must have been a meaningful word, but looked silly in silence. Bernie just stared as the woman's smile faded. Bernie said, "Deaf," or what she hoped sounded like it. Relief swept over the nurse's face. She walked over to a drawer and pulled out a zippered plastic bag that held Bernie's hearing aids. She flipped the tiny switch on each and carefully inserted them into Bernie's ears, then backed up so Bernie could see her face. It was faint, but Bernie heard ventilator as it inhaled. "I forgot about those. Can you hear me?" she said. Bernie nodded slightly and tried to speak, but no sound came out. "Don't try to talk too much yet. We'll see about unhooking the vent from that tracheostomy and getting you some water. That should help. Now, can you squeeze my hand?" Bernie did. "Good. What is one plus one?" Bernie folded down all but two fingers on her right hand. "Very good. You can hear me and you seem to understand me. I'm sure you have a million questions right now, but I can only tell you what I know about you medically. Do you want to here it?" Bernie nodded. "You were stabbed, and the knife hit a lung and an artery. You lost a lot of blood, but the surgeons were able to help. You've been out for about a month, and it's good to finally see your eyes." The young woman bustled about checking monitors and charts. Despite all the technology in the room, she gently turned Bernie's arm palm-up and laid two fingers on her wrist to check her pulse. She pulled a blood pressure cuff from a drawer and strapped it around her upper arm, then rapidly squeezed the black bulb. The cuff tightened. Bernie's memory flashed back to Jeff's strong grip on her arm as she cocked it to throw a bottle at Glenda. He had been firm, but not malicious. Later, in her shack, although he had meant to kill her, he had not seemed angry. Instead, he was frighteningly calm as he worked to-what had he said? To add her soul to his collection? "Oh, you have goosebumps. Are you cold?" the nurse said. Bernie slowly shook her head. Recalling anything right now was like looking through thick fog. She heard the rip of Velcro as the nurse released the blood pressure cuff. She thought she could move enough to write. She made a pinch gesture and mimed handwriting motion. The nurse stepped back over to the drawers. Carefully, Bernie turned her head to the left. A door stood between two windows, drapes wide open to reveal a white hallway. To the right, painted white drywall stared back. In front of her was the same, except for a sign and a painting of a flowery field. The flowers were yellow and orange and comprised the bottom half of the painting. Across the middle was a line of trees of varying heights, a white farmhouse among them. In the distance stood a mountain range of rolling hills. Above it all was a blue sky with soft white clouds. The sign below it read, "In case of emergency, press red call button." She lay there thinking that she should have pushed a big red button a long time ago. Scared that nobody would answer, instead she had languished in her grief and lingered in a damaging environment. Leaving behind all that she had known, the good and the bad, had never seemed possible. Then came Shonda. Where is she? "Here's that pen and paper. That's what you wanted, right?" Bernie nodded and opened her fingers to accept the pen. The nurse gently placed it in her hand and set down a pad of paper bearing the name University of Arkansas for Medical Sciences.

CardiacRN2006 - Thanks for those details about what you would do! This also helps me decide how long I'll have her in a coma, because this isn't a story about a long rehab process. This is part 10 of the story, BTW.

jerzytech, it wasn't quite as simple as "Well, gee, here's a red button." But that was pretty funny. Here is the scene so far, without any expert input (I was guessing about the nurse's actions) : Now she was lying on her back, dull pain running through her chest and an unfamiliar fullness in her mouth and throat. She opened her eyes and looked down to see what was in her mouth. A breathing tube. Tiled drop ceiling loomed overhead. She recognized the sterile, unnatural smell. Hospital. Carefully, she turned her head to the left. A door stood between two windows, drapes wide open to reveal a white hallway. To the right, painted white drywall stared back. In front of her was the same, except for a sign and a painting of a flowery field. The flowers were yellow and orange and comprised the bottom half of the painting. Across the middle was a line of trees of varying heights, a white farmhouse among them. In the distance stood a mountain range of rolling hills. Above it all was a blue sky with soft white clouds. The sign below it read, "In case of emergency, press red call button." Having no idea what was going on constituted an emergency. Why had Jeff attacked her? Had he said there had been other victims? Was Glenda dead? Recalling events from that night was like looking through thick fog. Beside her on the bed, Bernie found a gray cylinder that looked like an ink pen fattened up for slaughter, with a red button on top and a wire leading out its other end. She splayed her fingers out to reach it and pulled it within thumb's reach. She pushed the red button. She lay there thinking that she should have pushed a big red button a long time ago. Scared that nobody would answer, instead she had languished in her grief and lingered in a damaging environment. Leaving behind all that she had known, the good and the bad, had never seemed possible. Then came Shonda. Where was she? Bernie pushed the red button again. The door opened and in rushed a young woman, maybe 30 years old, with dirty blonde hair cropped level with her jawline. She wore dark green scrubs and white SAS shoes. A stethoscope draped over her neck. She flashed Bernie a wide, welcoming smile. "Well, look who's awake," she said. Clumps of mascara clung to her eyelashes and her rouge verged on clown makeup. Bernie tried to speak, but no sound came out. "Don't try to talk too much yet. We'll see about getting that breathing tube out and getting you some water. That should help." The young woman bustled about checking monitors and charts. Despite all the technology in the room, she gently turned Bernie's arm palm-up and laid two fingers on her wrist to check her pulse. She pulled a blood pressure cuff from a drawer and strapped it around her upper arm, then rapidly squeezed the black bulb. The cuff tightened. Her memory flashed back to Jeff's firm grip on her arm as she cocked it to throw a bottle at Glenda. He had been firm, but not malicious. Later, in her shack, although he had meant to kill her, he had not seemed angry. Instead, he was frighteningly calm as he worked to -- what had he said? To add her soul to his collection? "Oh, my, you have goosebumps. Are you cold?" the nurse said. Bernie slowly shook her head.

This is excellent, jerzytech! Just the type of thing I was looking for. I'm sure the scene as I have it now would have looked pretty silly to all of you experts. Thank you very much. Anybody closer to this type of work have any input on protocol for a patient who wakes up from a coma spanning weeks or months? Do you ask them standard questions? Immediately try to remove the breathing tube, or try to calm them if they're fighting it?

I'm writing a novella online and one of my characters has been critically wounded via stabbing. She wakes to find herself in an ICU room and presses her call button. Here's my question, and I would greatly appreciate any information you can provide: When a call button is pushed by a patient who hasn't been awake for possibly weeks or months, what's the first response by the medical professionals on duty? Specifically, what does the patient see happen in the room? She has a breathing tube and probably lung and major artery damage from the stabbing. I'm sketchy on this because I've never been a patient or a worker in ICU. I've visited folks in ICU (or CCU -- what is the difference?) so I can describe a lot of the scene. I'll be glad to attribute credit to anyone who helps (unless you'd rather leave yourself anonymous). Thanks again!