Thursday, December 14, 2006
It was just as the day shift was winding down and the two call people were informed their services would be needed until another room closed and they would be allowed to go home. Everyone hates staying late, but there’s no help for it. I was one of the two victims. I was even more put off than usual because a) I knew it was some little ENT case and I HATE little ENT cases especially in the afternoons when you’re already all beat up and b) I had been used as a breaker already even though I was a regular day shifter and I don’t appreciate being a PPB (ping pong ball) as if I were a bit of foam to be tucked wherever it suited anyone.
I walked into the room and tried to figure out who was already in there, who needed to leave, and who needed to stay and what everyone was going to do once they were all in there. I scarcely noticed the attending until I saw him out of the corner of my eye.
Meet Muttering Malcolm. He’s extremely intense, tears down residents for breakfast, and suffers from a touch of paranoia. He wanders the halls talking to himself and shaking his head in agreement with some point made in conversation with Self. I had scarcely noted his appearance in the room when one of the outgoing nurses got my attention. “Look at him! Look!” Muttering Malcolm was sitting on a stool with his mask down. It took me a moment to notice. There, in the folds of his half-discarded mask were two bright orange kernels of popcorn, likely leftovers from some hastily-eaten snack. He was lecturing a resident about the upcoming case with frown firmly in place and just below, the popcorn screaming for attention. I had my mask up thanks to my not knowing if the case was in progress before I walked in. I’m glad I did.
I haven’t laughed that hard in so long. I had to go out in the hall before he heard me and figured out we were laughing at him.
They told me later he’d noticed the popcorn and hastily eaten it as if the message from eye to brain had been, “Food. Eat.”
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Silent Sally had just brought a child into the room with anesthesia waiting. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Angry Arnold who was to scrub the case had opened all utensils for the case but hadn’t progressed much farther than that. It was a laparascoptic case. Sally tried to ignore it, figuring it was his problem if he wasn’t ready in time. If it were her, she preferred to be ready, especially since the doc was Suffering Sammy and he deserved his cases to move along at the least.
Moments after helping the child over to the other bed, who should come into the room but Hoover Harriet. She announced Arnold had to go have his yearly evaluation and she was going to cover for him. Sally felt her heart sink. Harriet hadn’t scrubbed a case since the Cold War ended. An unwelcome weight settled onto her shoulders but there was no helping it. She waited for Harriet to get herself together and then come relieve her of her circulator duties. The moment Harriet was within reaching range of the kid, Sally whipped a sterile gown and gloves open for herself and performed the fastest hand scrub known to man. In her haste, she dropped two forceps which wouldn’t be needed in the case, but she announced it to Harriet anyway. Instruments are better off up and out of the way than underfoot.
The table took shape much faster than she’d dared hope, but it isn’t a one person job. Gracious Grace was the assistant and she always needs a standing stool. She asked Harriet to get it. Maybe Harriet heard, maybe she didn’t through the constant stream of her own complaints. It’s possible Harriet just became overwhelmed, what with the counts and so many things to plug in. She did enough to get the case started and then settled into her familiar, comforting pattern of cleanup. Sally found all boxes out in the hallway later with the two dropped forceps neatly arranged in one of them. Grace spent the first half of the case with her nose at approximately the level of the mattress until Arnold came back and Sally got her the step.
No one got anything they needed, but the room was spotless.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
I am a nurse in an operating room.
Besides foot pain and chipped nail polish, one thing this job gives me is a heap of stories. And thus this site was born when I thought of posting them because someone else may find them amusing or relatable. For me, it’s a stress-relief.
For the confused, the core is the sterile center of the operating suite where someone who does not belong will be shot on sight… or something. Calling this place Stories From the OR sounded too obvious. No real names are used– ever. I’m stressed, not stupid. With that said, allow me to say this: This site is in no way meant to mock or defame anyone. The sensitive or paranoid need not sue or send me hateful e-mails or anything. It’s all in good fun.
I will clearly never tell you my name. I’ll be known by the blog’s moniker of “admin”. Please don’t press me for details. Comments are allowed though the spam will dictate how long that may go on.
The site is optimised for Firefox, Safari, or any law-abiding browser, that is, not IE. Get a good browser or suffer the badness.
Without further ado, let’s get started…