trachs

Rough Night

Last night I had two patients. One chronic kiddo with a lot of things and meds due at 9 and the other was supposed to go to the floor. The floor paperwork was filled out and I faxed it after doing my assessment on that kid and the other kid and my safety checks. The floor patient’s dad was literally STARING me down waiting for me to tell him they could go to the room. I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get the transfer work done and keep up with meds and cares on the other patient. The floor called me back, I gave report, and helped the care partner transport him and his family upstairs. It was about 9:00. 

I went straight into my other patient’s room and did diaper change, G-button care, trach care, tie change, started feeds, suctioned, full bath, changed her clothes, put lotion on her, crushed her meds, gave all her meds, eye care, cleaned the room, changed the linens, changed her pulse ox, tucked her into bed. Mom was great and helped me and we were having a great time. 

The second I ducked out of the room to chart, charge comes over and says to give that patient to the nurse next to me and pick up the med-surg float’s assignment on the other side of the unit. I wanted to cry…I finished charting everything on those two and gave report to the docs for rounds and the nurse who was taking over. I went over to the other side of the unit at about 11 and got report on two new kiddos…had to assess them, chart everything, do their baths (because the float did nothing), EVD checks every hour, calm a crying baby every hour, changed probably 15 diapers, Q2 neuro checks. That was so frustrating. Ugh.

You CAN crack Vegeta...

This is a teaser from the wheelchair!Vegeta fic I’m working on. It’s from a flashback of right after he was injured when the swelling in his spinal cord and brain made it impossible to see the extent of his paralysis. He spent some time as a quad on a vent until the swelling began to go down. It was not an overnight recovery.

Vegeta is just…he’s having an “I can’t take this anymore, I’m scared!” moment because weeks are going by and he’s not seeing any improvement in his condition. Bulma happens to walk in on it and she gets him through it by validating his grief.

And, btw, Vegeta is using AAC because his trach has an inflated balloon cuff that prevents air from passing over his vocal cords, so he can’t talk yet. It also makes crying feel worse because it’s silent. The only giveaway is the look on his face and all the tears and snot that come out when someone ugly-cries the way he is.

But what he says to Bulma afterward is so so sooo important, because he’s indirectly stating he sees her as an equal.

(gif by @neogohann)

Under the cut!


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13 hours later, I'm finally home.

Okay, so recap time while I can still keep my eyes open. I’ll have to read this again later when I’m more coherent.

There’s blood on my boots that doesn’t belong to me. And also in my pants.
The ER patient I helped resuscitate at 3am was half-dead and is probably dead. I might have broken a rib or two doing compressions on her chest. Flatlining. Weak pulse. Flatlining. Cardiac arrest. Distended stomach. Trach. Doctor had to tell me three times to hold compression.
So what do you do when that happens and there’s nothing you can do?
Head to Dunkin’ Donuts for a cup of coffee and a donut. Duh. And Starbucks three hours later.
It gets less boring again when some asshole clips your ambulance side mirror and flees the scene. Going to the EMS vehicle repair shop was fine. Onto the next ambulance then.

Blue babies. Something about a freaked out mother and a newborn that randomly stopped breathing. Baby, why are you down and blue? Cyanosis. CPR. Thumbs. Ratio. 3-1. Breathe. Don’t stop. Why. Blue. ?

I think I needed another cup of coffee. Was it 711 coffee of Dunkin’ again? I can’t remember.

7:30am comes. Back to the hospital for class. I had beef broth for breakfast from the downstairs cafeteria. Disgusting. Tried to watch Netflix but reception was so bad. Waiting for class. Couldn’t sleep. Coffee in my veins.

9am. 10am. 11am. 12am. Class. I temporarily forgot how to use an AED. It wasn’t lecture. Skills lab. Driving sucked. The coffee is wearing out. I need to wash my boots or something. Ugh. I just bought them. Now it’s like all red and gross.

I’m so tired. Tinnitus.

12:49 pm. Bed time.

Wake me up after five days.

Depresja nie jest nagłą katastrofą. Przypomina raczej nowotwór. Początkowo obca, wroga masa jest niedostrzegalna nawet dla uważnego obserwatora, aż tu nagle - trach! - okazuje się, że masz wielką, siedmiofuntową bulwę w mózgu, w brzuchu, w wątrobie i to coś, co twoje ciało wyprodukowało, naprawdę próbuje cię zabić.
—  (via @zapach-melancholii)

The more I hear about the current political scene, the more overwhelmed I feel.

I’m being plain honest when I say I’ve never felt more aware of my medical condition than when I think about this upcoming election. I am legitimately scared of the idea of spending the next four years stuck with an administration–regardless of who ends up in power–that could make it harder for me to get what I need to stay healthy when I’m already having to light fires under so many asses to get anything done. (And it’s not even the fault of my doctors, who are in my corner. It’s all the fucking red tape we have to deal with, thanks to insurance dragging its feet.)

I mean, I’m already having enough trouble trying to get a replacement for the large volume compressor I use to keep the mucus in my trach from drying out and choking me to death in my sleep. (Seriously, the thing is barely putting out enough pressure. I’m getting…five, maybe ten psi at the most. It should be a lot more than that.) I don’t even want to think about how hard it might be in the future.