Sunday, December 17, 2006

bookworm

There's no denying it. I'm back to medical telemetry. Which means crazy, end-stage patients who we all have decided are in congestive heart failure, because hey, why not.

My favorite patient from last night was a pleasantly confused man who did every thing you told him to, until you walked out of the room, resulting in the following scenarios:

JAMIE:
Okay, now, don't pick at your skin or you'll make it bleed!

PATIENT:
Okay! I won't!

[thirty seconds later, returning to the room to find:}

PATIENT'S FOREARM:
covered with bloody skin tear; patient still picking at skin.

Or how about this one, which went on all night because, essentially, he was pretty stable and I didn't think wrist /chemical restraints were the way to go on this guy:

JAMIE:
Hi, let's put that oxygen tubing back on, okay?

PATIENT:
Sure! Thank you!

JAMIE:
[walks out of room]

not thirty seconds later:

OXYGEN TUBING:
Not so mysteriously disengages itself from patient's face/nose.

Or my favorite:

PATIENT:
[squinting through darkness to read clock on the wall]
It's 2:30!

JAMIE:
Yes, it is. 2:30 at night. Bedtime.

PATIENT:
Yeah. Right. Hey, do you like books? Cause I got books! I'm sellin' 'em!

JAMIE:
Yeah, I like books! What kind of books?

PATIENT:
[looks mildly distraught and can't seem to remember what the hell he was talking about]
Books. All kinds. I'm telling you, books!

JAMIE:
Right. Well, I don't have any money right now, but how about I come by later and look at the books?

PATIENT:
[brightening up]
Yeah! That's a good idea!

JAMIE:
Can I put your oxygen back on you?

PATIENT:
Sure! Thank you!

[oxgyen tubing taken off as Jamie leaves the room].

The guy was totally crackers, but he didn't try to get out of bed, and he didn't get combative or verbally abusive. Other than the constant, completely pointless reorientation to keep his life saving oxygen cannula in his nose, he was a peach.

He also goosed me while I turned around to get something off his bedside table. Startled, I said, "Hey there!" more out of surprise than anything. When I turned around to look at the patient, he had this funny little grin on his face, and a spark in his eye that suggested, demented or not, somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he'd just gotten away with pinching my ass. "Hey there!" he parrotted cheerily, grinning, pointing at my ass.

I'm guessing that was his way of saying, "Hey, nice ass!" in his demented, limited cognitive-skills world.

I mean, what do you do? You can't get mad at the demented patient who pinches your butt, especially when you find it kind of funny in a pathetic way, and sadly, the most interesting thing that's happened all night long.

I'm totally blocking out all the rest of the night, because it sucked (four out of five demented patients; one beginning to actively die!) and I'm back tonight. And tomorrow night!

Let's face it, when you spent most of your job hours talking to crazy people about things that don't exist, you're bound to start testing the boundaries of reality sooner or later. With this crazy profession, I'm betting on sooner. I don't even bother reorienting my patients half the time, because it just upsets and confuses them even more that they aren't selling books like they think for thirty seconds, until they think they're at the office. Fine, dude, you're selling books, you're at the Taj Mahal, whateve whatever makes you happy. Just don't get out of bed and go door-to-door and try selling them, or go sightseeing out of your nice hospital bed caravan, okay?

Hey! Maybe I should bring money, and buy some books from that guy.

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