Schizophrenic Encouragement

I was in a somber, pensive mood walking to the gym early in the morning when I saw Mr. Orange Juice riding toward me on his bike.

The first time I met Mr. OJ a few months ago, he came up to the triage desk and asked me for orange juice.  I asked him if he was a patient.  Then, the other nurses pulled me aside in hushed voices and told me, it's just Mr. OJ the happy schizophrenic. Just give it to him and he'll leave because he is harmless.  I was curious- ok, but why the hushed voices? He was good friends with K, they explained. K was a middle-aged night-shift Charge Nurse who had suddenly died a few weeks before of a brain aneurysm. It shook the whole department to the core because she was a constant presence up until that fateful day.

I took out two little cartons of orange juice.  Mr. OJ graciously thanked me and called out, WANT TO SEE MY NEW BIKE????? The staff followed him out to see his new bike. I didn't go, but was highly amused..

Mr. OJ probably didn't remember this instance when he saw me on the old flagstone entrance of the gym. I lowered my eyes as he got closer, but then I heard an indulgent "you'll be all right." The huge black schizophrenic man on the bicycle grinned ebulliently at me as I looked up in surprise, "you are just like me when I was younger. You'll turn out ok." He zoomed by me without stopping, a flash of fluorescent orange, and called cheerfully once more over his shoulder, "you'll turn out ok!"

I couldn't help but grin stupidly to myself.  He is the happiest schizophrenic I ever saw. And totally made my day.

S

Overlapping Worlds

I started playing violin at 10 years old when my old violin teacher came to my elementary school to recruit students. She was a funny lady with a dry wit and a great love of all things artistic and of elephants.  I begged and pleaded with my parents, who had long ago decided after my disastrous attempt at keyboard that I should never learn to play another instrument. Progressing quickly though, I guess I proved that I can, indeed, sit still long enough to practice and become proficient at an instrument. In any event, my old violin teacher had been calling me and last night on my dinner break, around 7pm, I called her back. She didn't answer, so I left a cheery message and went back to work.

Lo and behold, I was looking at the facility board on the computer when my heart jumped to my throat.  My violin teacher I had just called was a trauma patient.  No wonder she didn't answer the phone.  I ran downstairs to see her- she was ok and rather thrilled to see me again, cupping my face in her hands like she used to. I stayed with her long enough to pull out her IV and send her home. 

I've had several weird crossings of fate lately.  A co-worker suggested I go see a psychic or palm reader.  

S

Musical Misinterpretation

I got to work today in Valhalla, the Emergency Room section above the rest, upstairs in an area resembling an actual hospital wing, It always smells like fried food, is bright, cheery, and actually has windows.  Up here, there is signal for the cell phones, patients have their own rooms, bathrooms, and a television to remedy the long hours of sitting there waiting for test results. Patients are happier up here, and so are we.

A few weeks ago up in Valhalla, I had a tough-guy patient. Wiry, with a sleeveless black shirt, a mustache-beard, and bald, he was the epitome of "biker".  He talked in a folksy but brusque way and was an all-in-all stereotypical middle-aged biker dude.  Imagine my surprise when I walked by his room to hear, blasting, the most beautiful Beethoven quartet. I smiled to myself and listened outside the door for a few minutes- I miss hearing this kind of music. I remember chastising myself mentally for stereotyping.  Maybe even biker dudes had that sort of introspective, sentimental side to them.  

Today, when I was taking vital signs on a patient, I heard elevator-grade flute music playing loudly from the room next door. Curious, I walked in and asked the patient if she was playing the music to calm herself.  "Are you kidding?" she stuttered in an agitated way, "it's a pain in the *** and I can't even turn it off."

I checked the controller- the tv wouldn't turn on or off. The volume controls for the music would only get louder. And the music was awful.  The off-button was not working.  The only way I could get the music to turn off was by unplugging the whole TV set-up.  

I couldn't help but laugh, remembering my tough biker guy sitting in the room, captive audience to very loud Classical string quartets for 8 hours.  I don't know if he was enjoying it or gritting his teeth trying to jam all the buttons on the controller, to no avail.  Poor man, I hope it was the former. 

S

Hotel ER

When I brought her in a ginger ale. Ms. Snobby looked up from twiddling with her phone and said, "Thanks. Leave it there. I want another ginger ale and a cranberry juice. If there is no cranberry juice, I will settle for an orange juice." She will condescend to settle for our failings to stock the juice she requires. Well, thank goodness for that. 

When patients know what options we have in the hotel ER refrigerator, they have obviously been guests too long!

As luxurious as it is here, I'm sure there are better options to be had for a vacation from work.  Not to knock my place of occupation, of course, it's just that I wouldn't suggest nor expect anyone to voluntarily stay there. 


S

It Could Be Worse

I walked into the room to take vital signs on a very thin young man. He was very calm, his mother was an anxious ball of nerves.  She was so worried about her son.

After introducing myself, I immediately got a good vibe from him.  Polite, easy-going, he spoke softly and acquiesced to all my requests and questions with good humor.

S: "Do you feel any pain?"
Young man: "Not at the moment, thank you for asking."
S: "Ah, well that's good to hear!"
Young man: "Yes, I suppose so."
S: "If you don't mind me asking, what did you come in for?"
Young man: "Well, I have renal failure and have had type I diabetes since I was 3 years old. I'm waiting for the transplant team to come talk to me."
S: "Oh, I am so sorry! That sounds terrible."
"Well," he shrugged and smiled, "it could be worse."

Really? Life could be worse than having renal failure and living half your life in the hospital? He was right, of course- I've seen worse... But he is still so young.  I tried to imagine what it was like to go through dialysis every week, to be on the transplant list, to be on anti-rejection medication on top of all the diabetic worries, insulin shots, controlled diet... I can only thank my lucky stars.  He is tough and a down-to-earth.  He is not bitter, as far as I can tell. He exuded a peaceful acceptance of his conditions and thankfulness for having all his wits, limbs, and other functions intact.

I appreciate a good person when I find one, so I stopped by his room several times to just to ask how he was and if I could do anything to make him more comfortable.  He never required anything, though each time I came in, his mother would start asking me questions.  Poor lady.

S

Forgiven... for Now

Mr. Mumble-de-Gook waved me down. "MRRRHHGNNNNG"
I looked at him warily.  The last time I saw him was when he almost clocked somebody with his cane.
http://talesofanemergencytech.blogspot.com/2011/08/fencing-er-style.html

"MMRRRH HUUUUUNGRY"
Oh, he was hungry again. I made it a point to never feed him when he came in.  Last time I gave him a sandwich, he ate it, then peed in the box before returning it for me to throw out.   Besides, there were no sandwiches in that fridge last night anyway. And I told him so, cheerily. Maybe too cheerily.

He cursed at me. "That ****errrrr therrre," he would cry, waving his arms whenever he saw me.
A nurse informed him that there were no sandwiches.  And miracle of miracles- he FELT BAD. He apologized for calling me a liar. Would you ever believe? He is still a scumbag for coming in to demand sandwiches, but wow to be apologized to... my eyes were ready to become pricked with tears, though they never came. It's the thought that counts.

When he did get a sandwich, he celebrated in the only way he knew how- "MMMMMMM. MRRRRRRMMMMM...." with a smile on his gap-toothed, cross-eyed face the whole time.

S

Stop, Thief

I'm flabbergasted. Really. If you were to go into a doctor's office, would you ever think to go looking in the drawers? It's not even something I would think about.

Not only did she rifle through the drawers- I looked in when I heard the drawer door open- a patient's visitor proceeded to grab handfuls of bandaids, bacitracin, whatever was in there and stuff it in her purse. She saw me watching, but did not put them back and stared at me almost defiantly, as if challenging me to say something. I was too shocked to, but I just stared at her, not in a disapproving way- just really, really surprised.  She blushed and pretended nothing happened. I left the room in a daze.

There are so many different ways to live our lives in this world- I am thankful today to be on a path that I am comfortable with, where I don't have to blush cheaply to complete strangers in passing.

S