Every nurse knows the frustrations of caring for a patient with a substance abuse disorder. Read about Jake...you may have met him.
Jake is very sociable, and has a lot of ...colorful friends who visit him in the hospital. He's quite likable, because he's intelligent, funny and clever. He's not bad-looking, but at 35, his lifestyle is starting to take a toll on his looks.
On this admission, Jake had an appendectomy. He also has a substance abuse disorder.
Time: 1940. Right now, Jake is leaning against the doorjamb in the doorway of his room, looking up and down the hallway for me. He's holding his cell phone in hand and repeatedly checking the time. Just to irritate me, I'm sure. He always calls for his pain meds before they're due.
Funny, I've yet to ever see him exhibit any outward signs of pain. On the contrary, Jake always appears relaxed, but his reported pain level is always a "ten."
Time: 1945. Only because I have to, I ask: "What's your pain on a scale of one to ten?" He automatically answers "ten" without blinking an eye or looking up from Candy Crush. I might as well have asked, "Yo, Jake, what's six plus four?"
Some patients always know exactly what time it is
Time: 2005. Ok, Ok! It's time. Reluctantly, I enter the room. My eyes roll as Jake scoots eagerly to the side of the bed nearest me and proffers his inner arm, exposing his antecubital saline lock. With his opposite hand, he pushes the sleeve of his patient gown up high and out of the way. His eyes are bright and his gaze is steadfastly fixed on the syringe in my hand.
He watches intently as I swab his saline lock port with an alcohol wipe. He's craving his fix. He swallows. He supervises as I pierce the rubber hub and finally inject the Dilaudid into his bloodstream. Then he asks me to "flush it fast." I don't respond or make eye contact. I flush the port and leave the room as quickly as I can.
I'm feeling repulsed. Did I say repulsed? Yes. I'll be honest here. You may stop reading now, you may be shocked, you may unfollow me. But I know that if I feel this way...I can't be the only one.
Dirty. Tarnished, as if I'm complicit in Jake's addiction. I'm pushing IV drugs on an IV drug user? Really? That's not what nurses do!
I'm angry.
What about the Rules? I'm playing by the: "What the Patient Reports as Pain is the Gold Standard" Rule Book. And Jake's Rules? No rules. He's just playing me for a fool. Or so it feels.
I don't like how I feel. So, for a minute, let's just step back from Jake and the floor and review some pain management terms.
Tolerance is a normal physiological response to exposure to a substance over time. Think coffee. You require more caffeine to realize the effects you enjoyed when you first started using, I mean, drinking, coffee. There's:
I need my coffee strong, please!
Jake has tolerance to both. "Normal" doses of pain medication will not relieve Jake's post-op pain. Dilaudid one mg IV for Jake is like a lukewarm, watery, half cup of coffee is to me. Due to tolerance, Jake needs more pain medication, not less.
Physical dependence develops with repeated exposure to opioids.
Many respectable, functioning members of society live with chronic pain that's managed by some form of opiate. Given enough time and drug, they become physically dependent. Dependence in and of itself does not constitute addiction.
According to the American Society of Addiction Medication (ASAM), addiction is "A chronic, primary disease of (the) brain...characterized by inability to abstain." People with active addictions can't control their cravings or impulses.
Here's the thing- patients with active addiction have pain, too. Perhaps even more pain than other people undergoing the same procedure. There's a phenomenon known as opioid-induced hyperalgesia, in which patients dependent on opioids have increased pain despite increasing doses of meds.
The (ASPMN) Position statement further says:
So when Jake, the post-op substance abuser, asks for his pain meds, it's complicated.
It's easier to dismiss Jake as a drug user than to sort this all out
Added to the problem is that few providers are schooled in managing pain in patients addicted to opiates. Dr. McSurgeon will most likely order his one size fits all post-op pain management order set.
Here are some things I've learned to reduce my frustration:
1. I will check my judgmental attitude. I remind myself that I don't know how Jake got to this place. I don't know his story, all the factors and forces that led to his addiction. Was he a cute little boy?
2. I will be realistic. Why am I surprised when a person with a substance abuse disorder displays behaviors... consistent with those of a substance abuse disorder? Folks with DKA have high blood sugars. Folks with an active addiction lie, cheat, steal and manipulate to get their drugs. When Jake lies, flatters, or wheedles, I won't take any of it personally.
3. I will understand my job. I can't cure Jake's addiction. I'm not that powerful. Even if I could, which I can't, and even if he wanted me to, which he doesn't, that's not why he's here. Jake's here because he had surgery. My job is to provide the best post-op nursing care I can.
4. I will take control. Of myself. My anger is my problem, not Jake's. I own it. I can only be manipulated if I allow it.
5. I will not engage in a power struggle with Jake. We both lose. I've worked with nurses who use passive aggressive behaviors, "forget" to medicate their patient, wait until change of shift, etc. Failure to treat pain is profoundly wrong, unethical, and unprofessional. Nurses who position themselves as "She (or He) Who is the Gatekeeper of Pain Medication" need to re think how they're using their authority.
6. I will be professional. I won't use stigmatizing terms such as "drug-seeking" and "clock-watcher." In handoff report, I will simply inform the next RN when Jake's pain med is due. Jake deserves the same access to pain medication as Edna, my 78-year-old female post-op hip surgery patient, and the same dignity and vigilance. (Actually, I have a hunch Edna was a little tipsy when she fell and broke her hip). I will respect Jake as a fellow human being who, for all I know, is doing the best that he can with what he has. As are we all.
New tactic.
Time: 1945. I go into Jake's room, smile, make eye contact, and ask him if needs his pain med. He is completely taken by surprise, and his face and eyes show it. Someone is treating him like a human being?
As for me? My anger is gone! I'm in control and I feel much kinder towards Jake. I can do this. It just takes practice..to improve my nursing practice!
These patients are tough. What's your experience? What helps you get through your shift?