Bear hugger anyone?

The nurses were talking about a bear hugger the other day, I learned that in the land of hospitals a 'Bair Hugger' is a warming device. I now realise this kind of makes sense but I wonder if it is concerning that my mind went straight to some sort of bone crusher?

 

I’d say it’s probably a good thing that I am not a medically trained professional. I have been asked a few times while working here if I would consider nursing. Let’s just say the only nursing that I have ever thought of doing would only occur if I am ever blessed with a family of my own.

 

Would you agree that it takes a certain type of person to be any sort health professional? I think at least a certain quality must be possessed. I am not saying I am not a caring person. I probably feel too much. I am those pathetic types, you know that cry at movies, TV commercials and ducks crossing the street – Oh joy they made it alive!

 

Some of you might think that’s normal but I am not, I mean I cry at almost anything: Sad songs, people who sing brilliantly, the YouTube clip where the girl with cancer invites her friends for a photo shoot and they surprise her by all shaving their heads, other people crying - like MaLynne's Outburst in Steel Magnolia , Oliver’s “Because of the life I lead” speech/excuse to Felicity on Arrow , Animal abuse or neglect, ill or sad children,  and pretty much any time I think of my dad.

 

People in the medical field find a way to overcome breaking down when someone is in tears or suffering extreme pain. They no doubt feel it just as much as the next person; obviously, they are human, but they have the ability to compartmentalize it long enough to be useful.

 

I remember when my younger brother came home from school with cut above his eyebrow. It was a long gash, deep red blood poured all over his face. I don’t know how but I managed to keep it together and help him. It was weird, but I somehow became incredibly calm.

 

However, I also remember when I tried to open a bag of dried apricots with a steak knife and managed to cut open one of my fingers instead.

 

It was a pretty deep cut but as my family will tell you, if they can get through the story without laughing, the way the blood came out it looked like we were filming a cheap horror flick in my kitchen.

 

My brother was on the floor, not out of shock or concern for me, no, he was on the floor laughing his head off. Weakened by the bloody sprinkler system squirting out of my vein, I started to feel dizzy. In my, I repeat ‘weakened state’, I may have said something along the lines of “I am losing power” instead of ….pressure? I did mention it was deep cut right?

 

My point is I’d have to wonder if blood was squirting out of my brother’s head instead of pouring out that day if I might have fainted instead of being useful? I don’t know, but I am sure you would agree that I am definitely not nurse material.

 

Come to think of it I make a pretty poor patient too.

After my first and only ever Ski class I decided I was that good that I could keep up with my friends who are pretty much Skiing experts from the age of eight. My CHAOS beanie and I managed to plunge my whole leg and ski into powdered snow. When my friend realised that I wasn’t hysterically laughing and that in fact, I was very much ugly crying, she went for help, even though I begged her not to.

 

I was strapped to a stretcher and hauled off the mountain. The ambulance guys were nice enough to stop near the ski lifts. A crowd gathered, and looked down at me, while I died an excruciatingly slow death of shame.

 

I had torn a ligament and my knee looked like I was wearing a world globe as a knee guard. I just wanted to get up, although felt like I might throw up, I wanted to pretend like nothing had happened.

Looking back I feel a little bad for the ambulance guys. I was in complete flight mode, my only mission was to hobble away and die. Just like that penguin gif that went viral a few years ago, you know the one, where the penguin face plants then gets up as if nothing happened? The ambulance guys were trying to treat me and I was like, nothing to see here...move along. 

I guess this doesn't say a lot of good things about me, basically if you find me injured you should walk away and let me die because if I can't help myself then by god nobody can!

Which brings me back to the bear hugger. Why would you call a warming device something that sounds like its going to hurt you? What kind of sick humour does this equipment naming nut have? 

 

 Imagine lying there (obviously I'd be strapped down being a flight risk and all) and the nurse tells you he/she will be right back with a bear hugger. I guess the threat of crushing my bones is one way to make lay still and cooperate.

 

Hope you are all enjoying your break - till I rant again, thanks for reading.

 

 

 

 

_______________________________________________________________

Note:  To leave a comment you have to pick an option from the "Comment as" box and then press Publish.

'Humerus' Observations

The Orthopaedic ward (not to be confused by Orthodontics or Paediatrics) is otherwise known as the bones ward. )

 

 

Did you know the infamous funny bone isn’t even a bone? (GASP) It’s just a nerve that’s not covered by bone or muscle. It’s practically naked, f r e a k i n g   e x p o s e d to the world.  No wonder it hurts like a mother when you bump it. Of course they will tell you that they affectionately named the Ulnar Nerve – The Funny Bone because it’s located near the humerus which sounds ‘humorous’…but reality is…The ‘Funny Bone’ is just a brilliant excuse to laugh (guilt free) at someone else’s pain.

I spend most of my time at work interacting with the nurses, they do a lot of the things that I mentioned in my previous blog, like continuously ask each other if they are OK. If I were a nurse and they kept asking me if I was OK I would have become a valetudinarian within the first week.

“Yeah, I am ok. Wait why? Do I look sick? OMG you are like the third person this shift who asked me if I was ok….I thought I was ok. Maybe I am not. Maybe I should lay down, I don’t feel so well.”

Nurses are a funny lot with funny rituals. One of my favourite is when they assign and announce Key people, specifically nurses, implying of course that the rest don’t matter. So the lesser nurses get back at them by ringing a bell whenever they want to enter the Drug room.  They ring the crap out of that bell, and so they should, pretty sure it’s written somewhere that all nurses were created equally.

They like to confuse us medically untrained personnel by naming equipment with real people’s names.  Richard Splint is not a person, well he was but his name wasn’t Splint it was Volkswagen, no that’s wrong, it was Volkmann. Richard Volkmann invented a splint. I know that because after I spent some time trying to help find this supposed ‘missing’ patient I found out he was an inanimate object. ‘Richard’ was laid out on the counter right in front me the whole time. Well played Nurses…well played.

Next time you are visiting a hospital stand near a ward desk and watch as people check their brains at the door. I am not sure why but I find people are generally under the false assumption that I know who their relative are; I don’t know who you are so how would I know who you are related to?  (Let’s pause to think about that shall we….)

‘I am here to see my grandmother.’

‘Ok…who is your grandmother?’

‘Ellen.’

‘Excellent and who is Ellen? Don’t say your grandmother.’

It is both scary and hilarious how many people do that, or my other favourite is they see my hospital ID and no matter where I am they just come up to me and say a name….

‘John Smith’

‘Hi John’

‘No, I am here to see John Smith’

‘OH’ 

 

I do love this ward, I love this ward as much as I love ice-cream. Nope that’s a lie, let me try again… I love going to work here because there seems to be a cluster of comedic Nurses and Doctors, which makes for a thoroughly enjoyable workplace.  Some are just naturally witty people and others are oblivious to the red ball on the end of their nose.

The other week I asked the Nurse in charge if we were expecting any new patients that night, she answered:

“Yes we have a ‘foot’ coming up soon.”

“Just the foot?” I asked

“Yes, just a foot as far as I know”.

Can you imagine the foot being wheeled in on a bed? The heart monitor clipped to its pinkie.  A tiny little wash cloth being used as a sheet.

They also have a thing about …. What’s a nice way of putting this, bowel movements? It’s not uncommon for them to ask out loud like if they were enquiring about the weather “Has anyone moved their bowels?”

I always feel uncomfortable when they ask that, it’s just such a personal question. I know they don’t want to know if I have but they ask at least twice a night so I feel the need to confess. If I confess perhaps they will get over the topic?

 We had a Russian patient in whose second language was Spanish, English was perhaps his third. He struggled to understand and express himself so I agreed to help translate. You have no idea how weird it is to go up to a total stranger and say “Hi, so when was the last time you pooped?” no preamble just dive in there  up close and personal, muck and all.

Side note: There is even a poop chart with pictures; to be clear, pictures of poo. If that is not obsessive behaviour I don’t know what is.

The team there not only have my sincere affection, they have my complete respect. I like to tell them that the reason for their employment is to entertain me and although they do this brilliantly it is, sadly for me but lucky for all of you, not the case.

They take pride in their work and do their best even in the rare occasions when they are treated with much less respect than they deserve.

If you are ever on that ward because you hurt your humerus or something much worse, keep in mind that while we may always struggle to understand why these nurses are inexplicably obsessed with your faeces, we do know they are all there because they care about people.

Let them do their jobs, be nice, be grateful and remember… although hospitals conjure up fears and emotions that we might not know how to handle, I can tell you with all certainty (no bones about it) those guys are the good guys.

The funny thing about Hospitals....

Hospitals are not normally a place you would think to find humour.  As life would have it I am now employed at the very place that I couldn’t look at for years. I guess life is funny like that. Funny weird not funny ha ha but at the very least I can say I am facing my fears.


I have found it to be a place that has kept me mostly smiling for the past year and it kind of makes sense. I love stories and this place at any one time has at least 700 new stories and that is just the patients. 

I think people who can’t afford to go on back lot tours of their favourite movie studios should grab their kids and go visit a hospital. Honestly I am not saying that everyone there is peculiar looking but I can guarantee you find some interesting characters – especially if you have an imagination like mine.

I worked for a little while in the geriatrics and rehabilitation unit and let me tell you, if they let that place go to hell a little and everyone talked and walked a little slower – you could film a horror movie there no problem.

There are a lot of old timers with missing limbs or worse missing memories.

I was sitting at my desk when this guy in a wheelchair rolls up and stares at me.  This guy had lost both legs but not his smile; so he was automatically rewarded with one from me.

“Hey smiley” he said to me holding out candy, his arm fully extended making sure his offering was as close to my face as possible.  I had just watched him slowly pull out the two offending candies from his pockets. It looked like perhaps they were previously in his mouth or melted, I am no PI but the strings of goo that connected the two lollies suggested my theory was solid.

“Want some lollies?” he asked.

I of course smiled masking my ‘completely grossed out’ face and kindly declined. Then I watched him roll up to the next person and the next person offering them candy. Now I know what you are thinking because I can guarantee you I thought it too, he is the guy from the van!  I wish I had access to the FBI most wanted database. I am pretty sure... it’s very possible that I would get a match if I crossed reference his face against that guy our mums’ warn us about when we were kids. Never take candy from the old man in van kids, no matter how nice he is. It’s him guys.  I know it. ;)

Another night I heard whistling coming from the hallway. I ignored it because I have seen that movie, you know the one where the stupid girl follows the music down the creepy hall. Every time she is surprised to find the serial killer jumping out of the shadows…every time.

I ignored it for the first hour then I kept asking the staff about it, you know as casually as possible…

”Do you hear that creepy whistle?”

“Yeah room nine.” Said one the nurses finding nothing sinister about someone whistling a slow version of Kill Bills ‘twisted nerve'.  

I went to investigate, shut up this was real life, no way there was a serial killer in the dark, unlike in the movies I made sure all the lights were on and waited for one of the nurses to walk in that direction before I walked into room nine.

There sat an old man on his hospital bed, sweaty hair, in need of a shave and just rocking himself as he whistled and stared at the wall. He stopped whistling and looked at me.

I smiled. “Hi, everything ok?” I asked.

He smiled and simply said “Yes”.

I turned around and walked towards my desk, halfway down the hall he starts whistling. I may or may not have run the rest of the way back. I will admit to laughing quietly to myself, what the hell was that? I suspect that the likes of Tarantino and King spend a lot of time in hospitals.

This and their actual pay rate leads me to believe that Nurses are severely under paid. The things they are asked to do and the grief they get in return deserves an internet campaign with the power to crash the twitter verse. They should at very least get a hug after every shift and more money, definitely more money.   Picture washing Mr Whistler and then argue against a pay increase. I dare you. One thing is for sure the Nurses in that unit are salt of the earth. In fact when I am old and demented I hope I get to freak out some Nurses as caring as they are.

They are interesting people Nurses; did you know they call each other sister? I thought it was strange at first, then one called me sister and I said no I am not in a habit……of being called Sister. Get it ‘habit?’ like the nuns wear… no neither did she, I of course laughed.

The amazing thing is that they continuously ask each other if they are OK. “Are you OK sister? Can I do anything for you?” It almost brought a tear to my eye the first time I heard them interact. I am not kidding you, these guys are tight. Can someone tell me what the suicide rate of Nurses are compared to other professions, I suspect with this much support its low. It’s always “Are you OK day” for Nurses.

 

I am in the orthopaedics ward at the moment...talk about funny bones.

TBC