ADVENTURES IN NURSING

TIME OUT

Please forgive me.  I'm in time out from blogging at present.  I've been sick, and now I'm preparing to downsize from an eight-room house to a three-room apartment.  I should be the current poster child for NOT amassing a boatload of unnecessary CRAP of which you will someday have to dispose!  Does anyone out there want half of my crap?  Well, an emergency yard sale is in my near future, if you're in my neighborhood.

In the meantime, I may appear with a new blog all about my ADVENTURES IN DOWNSIZING, depending on how much material I manage to gather.  (Doesn't that sound like a fun read - probably more fun to read about than to actually experience.)

Have no fear, though.  ADVENTURES IN NURSING will return, so check back occasionally.

You may now return to whatever you were doing previously.

ADVENTURES IN NURSING

FIRST YEAR ENDING

Well, we were finally wrapping up our first year.  We had taken all the skill proficiency tests that were required for our summer hospital clinicals.  Each and every one of us was looking forward so much to the freedom from classes that awaited us.  That didn’t mean we were off the hook, though – far from it.

We were scheduled for a month-long hospital rotation during the summer - first shift, five days a week for four weeks, just like real life.  Luckily, B and I requested and received different rotations so that one or the other of us would be home with the brats ... er, the children, and we wouldn’t have to deal with day care.  Yahoo!  That simplified life quite a bit.

 So, we threw a little “end of the year” party and invited all our classmates and instructors.  Several classmates actually attended and, while the rainy, 50-degree weather threatened to ruin our event, we all had a slightly drunken good time anyway.  It was great to let off some steam, and talk about what was coming next.

B’s rotation came first and as was her routine, she had a little upchuck meeting with the commode each and every day.  Poor baby!  She really didn’t appreciate the stress and responsibility.  While I sympathized with her, I also was thrilled that she was able to prepare me in some small way for my turn.  It was nice to know what was expected of me, so that I could potentially plan ahead.  Naturally, me being me, I didn’t plan ahead at all, but it was nice to know, anyway. 

I had myself a big old honking meltdown right before my month-long clinical.  My boyfriend and I talked about planning a wedding, but there was no money for such frivolity.  Bitterly disappointed, I began playing with the idea of quitting school and finding myself a good-paying full-time job.  I was so tired of always being cash-strapped, and wanted to have a real life, with dinners out, and shopping, and vacations, and decent cars, et cetera.  I wanted more!

Unfortunately, our area wasn’t known for good-paying employment with the skills I had, which were basically office administration and cleaning houses.  I picked up more hours at the restaurant I cleaned, making pizzas, salads and desserts on Friday and Saturday night, but that wasn’t getting me much closer to my fantasy life.  And none of the many places I had applied to was beating down my door to hire me. 

I went into one of my blue funks and that’s where I was on my first day of clinical.  I was determined to make something happen but in the meantime, I continued with nursing school.  The universe was listening.

My very first day, my very first patient – a very sweet, rosy-faced elderly gentleman who was recovering from a heart attack – kinda rocked my world.  When I approached him with his AM meds, he asked if he could tell me something.  He was concerned that I would think he was crazy, but he had to tell someone.  It seems he had “seen” himself die in the emergency room, complete with the bright light and angels you always hear about.  As tears rolled down his face, he grabbed my hand and chills went down my spine.

I was stunned.  I was shaken.  It was another of those “brick-upside-the-head” moments for which the Universe is famous.  This was my sign.  I assured this man that I didn’t think he was crazy at all, and thanked him profusely for helping me come to a decision I had been struggling with.  All I could think of was, “What if I had quit nursing school, and hadn’t been in that particular hospital room, on that particular day, and hadn’t heard that particular man’s story?” 

In turn, he thanked me profusely for listening and not judging.  I realized in that moment that this is why I was here.  I had received so many blessings since I made the decision to become a nurse.  So many people in my life had stepped up to help me make sure I got through the process and achieved my goals.  This was something I needed to see through to the end.

When my instructor and I left the room, I explained to her what had been going on in my life, and the fact that I was thinking of quitting school.  I even shed a few tears, as I recall.  It was such a profound moment for me, I had to share.  Amazingly, even though I had only known this lady for a couple of hours, she gave me a little hug and reminded me why I had started this journey in the first place.

Some might think it was just the luck of the draw that I was assigned to that man that day.  I knew better.  I will be forever grateful that our paths crossed.  Those few minutes we spent together changed my path completely.  What a blessing.    

ADVENTURES IN NURSING

LET’S TALK CATHETERS

“You’re not squeezing hard enough.”  Mrs. B1 faced me across the bed and quietly, urgently repeated, “You’re not squeezing hard enough.”  Aw, geez, this was not going well.

A million thoughts raced through my brain with the speed of a downhill train.  “Why me?”  “Why me in front of Mrs. B1?”  “Why a 75-year-old male dementia patient, with the attendant 75-year-old penis??”  Okay, so it was actually only three thoughts, but they were running in a circle in my head so it might as well have been a million.  What the hell ever made me think I wanted to be a nurse??  I was not having a good time.

Sweat broke across my forehead.  My glasses slid down my nose.  I couldn’t push ‘em back up – had my sterile gloves on and my hands full of penises and catheters.  I said a silent prayer that I could get this thing done before said glasses fell off my face and on to something I didn’t want to contemplate.

I was already a nervous wreck, just from opening my supplies and setting up my sterile field under the watchful eye of my instructor.  So many things to remember – open this first, lubricate that last, yadda yadda yadda.  And now I wasn’t squeezing hard enough?  Could I catch a freakin’ break here?  Apparently not.

My poor, sweet, dear elderly patient was in no position to assist.  If I had known the troubles that awaited me, I would have snuck into his room earlier and taped a Playboy centerfold to the ceiling above his bed, for Pete’s sake.  Too late for all this wisdom now!

I soldiered on, because that’s what we nurses do, right?  Besides that, I needed the grade.  If it wasn’t this guy, it would be the next one.  Gosh, this was fun.

I’ll be honest with you.  I don’t remember now how I got through that day.  I can’t even guarantee that I completed the procedure successfully.  I assume I did because I have no memory of having to repeat it in front of Mrs. B1 again.  Yay me!  I’m pretty damn sure, though, that I didn’t “look like I knew what I was doing.”

That wasn’t my last misfortune with a catheterization either.  It happens.  They don’t always go as planned but when they do, IT IS SWEET!  I’ll tell you one thing, though.  I’m retired now and I’ll never have to do it again, and for that, I am ever so grateful.

As for that poor, dear, sweet demented man who was lucky enough to be my guinea pig, I like to think that he was either (1) blissfully unaware or (2) enjoyed the most foreplay he’d had in years

        ADVENTURES IN NURSING

MORE FIRST YEAR MEMORIES

Life is funny sometimes.  As I was experiencing ... struggling through ... tolerating ... dreading ... nursing school, I was sure that I would never forget one damned thing that happened.  Boy, was I wrong.  Life gets busy, overwhelming, and your brain gets so full of stuff that you have to let some things leak out.  I guess that’s what has happened here.

Now that I’m ready to commit my memories to “paper,” my memories have disappeared.  I know there were exciting things ... dreadful things ... annoying things ... maybe even enlightening and joyous things ... that occurred at least every week, if not every day, but for the life of me, I seem to be tapped out.  Oh, well, I’ll do the best I can.

The first thing that comes to my feeble mind is the day I discovered the autopsy book.  I found it in our class library during break time, and was absolutely fascinated by it.  It was about a foot thick, and had these beautiful overlays of the different body parts and systems during real autopsy procedures.

Yeah, I know it’s weird but hey, I’m nothing if not weird.  Nursing school will do that to you, too, on the off chance you’re not weird when you start.  Trust me, you will be by the time you make it through a nursing program.  No subject will be sacred.  You’ll find yourself discussing the consistency of your patient’s bowel movements over chips and salsa.  You’ll be describing wound drainage over wine and cheese.  If you’re anything like me, you’ll even chat about the color of tenacious secretions over your eggs and toast.  Lord help you!

But I digress.  So, while my classmates spent their break time studying, or gossiping with each other, or just vegging out for 20 minutes, there I’d be paging through the autopsy book while I sipped my soda and munched my Fritos.  I often wondered just how cool it would be to actually witness an autopsy.  Nowadays, after having read too many Kay Scarpetta novels, I realize the smell would get to me long before the various fluids and juices in the human body would. 

I recommend you try to locate a good autopsy picture book, and flip through it for a few minutes.  It’s almost as good as the real thing, and you might just want to find out how strong your stomach really is.  It couldn’t hurt!  

ADVENTURES IN NURSING

I’M WHAT?

I was 43 years old when I began my two-year nursing program.  I was engaged to a perfectly nice man, and he and his two youngest daughters lived with B and me in our gigantic old farmhouse.  He also had four adult daughters who lived on their own, and I had my two sons.

A couple of months after my 44^th birthday, my suspicions were confirmed when my at-home pregnancy test was positive.  It was stunning news.  The fiancé and I were very careful in regards to birth control.  We had six kids between us, the youngest being my 11-year-old son.  Babies were not in our plans, but there you have it ... the best-laid plans. 

I wasn’t thrilled about this development, but abortion was not an option for me.  I just couldn’t even consider it emotionally.  I realized I was going to have to come to terms with the pregnancy and adjust my life accordingly.  That would necessitate speaking to my nursing instructors to find out how this would impact my place in the program.  I wasn’t looking forward to that.

I informed Mrs. B1 on our next clinical day.  Since I hadn’t yet been to an obstetrician, we had no idea how things would play out.  I assumed I would be high-risk due to my age, but was generally healthy overall.  I couldn’t really make any decisions about continuing school until I had talked to a doctor, so we left it at that.

It was about a week later that, while getting ready for school one morning, I noticed I was spotting.  I was a little alarmed, since I’d never had that issue in my previous pregnancies.  I considered keeping it to myself, mainly because if I didn’t talk about it, it wasn’t really happening.  Yeah, I was that deep into denial.

Ultimately, I did mention it to B before we left for class.  Since I wasn’t having any other symptoms, we decided to go on to class and see how things went.  Unbeknownst to me, B called her sister after we got to school, and her sister called the ER of the nearest hospital, just to find out how concerned we should be.  Midway through class, I got a phone call from B’s sister, telling me that I probably needed to go to the hospital immediately, to find out what was going on.  Now I was scared.

After a thorough exam at the hospital, the kindly nurse let me know that I was, indeed, very possibly losing my baby.  My fiancé took me home with orders to stay on complete bed rest for the next few days, in the hopes that my condition would improve.  It was not to be.  After two days of severe cramping and continued spotting, I lost the baby.

I was devastated.  I had already chosen a name for what I was sure would be my daughter.  My fiancé had chosen a name for what he was sure would be his son.  My hormones were off the charts.  I had to go back to the hospital and have a D & C, a most unpleasant experience.  All in all, it was pretty traumatic.

Even now, all these many years since, I sometimes stop and think about how my life would be different if I’d had that baby, who would be 22 years old this year.  I still think of her as Molly Marie.   

ADVENTURES IN NURSING

NURSING HOME CLINICALS

The day finally came when B and I and all of our classmates had our uniforms, our hated blue pinafores, our nursing shoes, our ugly white stockings, and some of “them” had nursing caps.  We scraped together the cash for our very own stethoscopes, the best we could afford at the time.  Some of us even had our own sphygmomanometer, which is just a fancy word for blood pressure cuff.  (I’ve often wondered who came up with this impossible-to-remember-how-to-spell, six-syllable word for the four-syllable term.  This person and their evil spawn need to be cursed, or at least cursed at!)

We were ready for our first nursing-home clinical day.  B spent a few minutes that morning upchucking her tea and toast breakfast, which would become her ritual on clinical days.  We were scared.  We were nervous.  We were student nurses!  Off we went!  Luckily, we were in the same group, so could cry on each other’s shoulders.

The routine was that we would be assigned one patient for the day.  It was our job to familiarize ourselves with our patient’s medical issues, medications, personal care routines, and what activities of daily living we would need to provide for them.  We had to know what medication was for which diagnosis, and any side effects of their meds to monitor for.  Were they independent or dependent as far as bathing, toileting, dressing, eating, et cetera?  We were their nurse for the day, and we’d better start acting like it.

I don’t remember my very first patient’s name.  I recall she was confined to a wheelchair, so my first thought was “easy-peasy.”  At least, I wouldn’t have to chase her down the hallways, trying to corral her into her room so I could do what I had to do.  She was also quite deaf, so there was a great deal of yelling back and forth going on, which really wasn’t all that effective.

I’ve always been a great believer that we should respect our elders.  This was due in large part, no doubt, to my mother trying to beat this philosophy into me for the first 18 years of my life.  It took, believe you me!  I had respect for my elders up the yin yang, and perhaps even a healthy fear.  Old people could be scary, even downright mean in some cases. 

I spent my day being just as polite as I possibly could with my little white-haired, bespectacled charge.  At one point, she was parked in the hall, observing all the hustle and bustle of a typical day in a nursing home.  I was standing beside her, attempting to have a conversation and appear as if I were engaging her in some meaningful way.  Suddenly, there was Mrs. B1, ready to grill me on the whys and wherefores of what we had been doing all day.

Feeling oh-so-indispensable, I leaned over to ask the little varmint if she was warm enough.  Before I could yell, “Holy crap!” her little wrinkled arm snaked out from under her lap robe and slapped me right across the face.  I can only surmise that she didn’t care much for my face being right in her face.  In any case, I valiantly controlled my urge to return the favor and smack her right back.  Please don’t judge me.  The urge was a reflex, for Pete’s sake.

The blow brought tears to my eyes.  That old lady packed quite a wallop.  I tried to regain my composure and not run weeping down the hall in front of Mrs. B1.  I have no idea what she was thinking in those few minutes.  We never discussed the fracas, and we both agreed that, yes, apparently, the ornery little critter was warm enough.  As I stood there gathering my wits about me again, I swore to myself that I would NEVER work in a nursing home or with mean old people once I became a nurse.

Ah, such famous last words.  It turns out, my career consisted of working in nothing but long-term-care facilities, with seniors and developmentally disabled adults.  I developed quite the talent for avoiding kicks, spittle, blows, fingernails, flying objects and many other things my charges might choose to throw at me.  I’m not saying I avoided every potential injury, but I did learn not to stick my face, with its phony plastered-on smile, in another old lady’s face and ask if she was warm enough.  I strongly advise you to do the same!

ADVENTURES IN NURSING

FIRST YEAR HIGHLIGHTS

After B and I got over our initial nervousness at being students again, we began to settle into a routine.  We would study on our own and quiz each other before class each day.  She was such a big help for me when there were things I just didn’t get.  I like to think vice versa was true for her.  In any case, my grades began to improve but, damn it all to hell, B’s quiz and test grades were ALWAYS a few points higher than mine.  Being 12 years older than she, I blamed it on old age and having more stuff to remember.  Her opinion of my opinion?  “Whatever!”

One of the best things about our first year was getting to know some of our classmates.  After the students who weren’t really serious about nursing were weeded out, we became an especially cohesive group.  Some of the teenagers even became friends with the old folk.  It was a real case of, “We’re all in this together!”  Besides the brother/sister duo, there were two or three other cases of best friends who entered the program together.  Even our instructors commented on how unusual that was. 

My fondest memory from our first year would have to be our capping ceremony.  It occurred later in the school year, right before our first nursing home clinical day.  We were required to pay $8 each for our nursing caps, which were part of our official uniform.  Attendance at the ceremony was mandatory.  B and I did not attend.  Allow me to explain.

B and I had long discussions on the subject.  I personally had always detested nursing caps, and saw no good earthly reason for their existence.  There was also the sad fact that I had very fine hair that wouldn’t even hold a barrette, let alone a cap that had to be pinned on.  Besides that, it was just one more surface to harbor germs, as far as I was concerned.  Oh, yeah, and I don’t look good in hats!

For these reasons, B and I decided not to buy the caps and to ditch the capping ceremony, even though it was considered a sacred rite of passage for a nursing student.  Bah, humbug, I say!  I was “morally opposed” to wearing a nursing cap and I wanted no part of it or the ceremony.  As I’ve mentioned before, we paid for this escapade for the rest of the program, having points taken off our grades each clinical day.  Needless to say, the Mrs. Bs were silently disapproving of our shenanigans.

Well, on our first clinical day, the classmates in our group made it perfectly clear to us how they felt about the whole thing.  They presented each of us with a urine “hat” – you know, the white plastic container you hang in the toilet to capture someone’s urine – as our own personal nursing cap.  They even had our names on them.  Isn’t that precious? 

At their insistence, we had to wear them that first day until our clinical instructor entered the room, to ensure that she would know right away who the rebels in the class were.  They all had jolly good fun ridiculing us, which made B and I sit a tad lower on our high horses.  Everyone’s a freakin’ comedian!       

ADVENTURES IN NURSING

THAT “OTHER” INSTRUCTOR

I don’t remember her name, and that’s okay with me.  She was a substitute instructor my clinical group was subjected to during our month-long summer clinical at the hospital.  Thank God we only had to deal with her for one day.  She was just plain old rude!  She seemed to think it was her personal mission to whip us all into shape in one day.  We were not impressed.

A little backstory to this is that my then-fiancee had a daughter who had already been through the two-year program in the class one year ahead of us.  However, she hadn’t been able to attend her summer clinical, since she was busy having a baby during that time.  Consequently, she and I found ourselves in the same clinical group that summer.  Once she got through that, she was eligible to graduate.  She was most eager to finally put it all behind her, and begin her career. 

Well, Mrs. Rude Instructor seemed to zero right in on this perfectly lovely young woman.  Lee (not her real name) had long blonde hair, which she wore up in a ponytail as required by the program.  She did, however, have corkscrew curls that hung loose on each side.  Well, Mrs. RI was not gonna let that go by unnoticed.  Before we even hit the floor, she informed Lee, with a flick of her pen on the aforementioned curls, that “those have to go.”  There would be no loose tendrils on HER watch, by gum and by golly!  Lee’s face turned bright red, and I was thinking, “Oh, sh**, here we go!”  I had witnessed Lee’s temper when she believed she had a righteous rant, and I was concerned that Mrs. RI was about to witness it, too.  Good for you, Lee!  You didn’t let loose on her, even though she probably had it coming. 

Mrs. RI was like those pesky little yappy dogs that latch on to your ankles and won’t let go, no matter what.  She dogged each of us all that day, watching and waiting for someone to screw up.  She criticized every tiny little thing she could find.  I seem to remember getting grilled about why I wasn’t wearing my nurse’s cap, which was required.  You’ll hear more about that in a future blog.  We were so happy to see that day end.

I really don’t know why people have to act like that.  I’m all for making sure that students are well trained before being turned loose on the world of nursing.  I don’t, however, think it’s necessary to just be a bitch to people who are trying their best to learn what they need to know – students who want to learn, and want to do things properly, and want to be proud of their skills and abilities.  The program was tough enough without throwing catty instructors who seem to have their own agendas into the mix.

Here’s the dress code for our clinical experiences:

 

1-     our nails had to be short, no nail polish;

2-   no dangly earrings, no visible necklaces, plain wedding bands only (no stones, no engraving, et cetera), a utilitarian watch with a second hand;

3-   our regulation uniform dress with the much-hated blue pinafore attached for the ladies; our nursing cap; white stockings and regulation nursing shoes;

4-   as mentioned above, hair longer than collar length had to be worn up WITH NO LOOSE HANGY-DOWN CURLS! 

Points were taken off our clinical grades for anything less than all of the above.  I get the concept, but many real-life nurses don’t follow these rules, obviously.  I was actually amazed when I began my career at how some nurses dress.  I continued to keep my nails short and unpolished.  The few times I wore even slightly dangly earrings, I regretted it.  If I didn’t lose an earring in some patient’s bed or clothing, someone with dementia would latch on to that sucker and convince me dangly earrings were not a good idea at work.

I don’t know how many hundreds of times I worked with nurses whose hair was hanging all in their faces, were wearing all manner of multiple rings on both hands, and bracelets on both arms, and necklaces right out there in plain sight, just begging for some unruly patient to grab hold and try to choke the life out of them.  It happens, and it’s not much fun!

I seem to have digressed from my original topic, but you’ll have that when I get up on my soapbox, which I usually carry around with me.  My point, if you’ve been able to follow this at all, is that nursing school isn’t really much like the real world of nursing at all.  Some of the rules of nursing school seem to be fairly arbitrary and perhaps even unnecessary, but we had to abide by them or pay the consequences. 

By the way, B and I, and our friend R, threw those damned blue pinafores in the bonfire at our graduation party.  That was one of the highlights of my life.  

ADVENTURES IN NURSING

MRS. J

I learned my most valuable nursing lesson from Mrs. J.  They are words that I’ve always remembered and apply to many areas of life, not just in the nursing field.

She was a hospital clinical instructor we met in our second year.  She was very pleasant, laid-back, funny as hell, and very down to earth.  She won our hearts when she agreed to adopt one of our too many kittens.  That was a big deal to us, let me tell you.

The lesson she taught us?  I suggest you remember these words and pass them on when appropriate.  “You don’t always have to know what you’re doing, BUT you always have to LOOK like you know what you’re doing.”   Isn’t that brilliant? 

Now, you may be thinking, “What the heck?  You mean the nurses who take care of us don’t always know what they’re doing??”  Let me assure you that nurses DO know what they’re doing, at least 99.999999% of them do.  If you look hard and long enough, you could probably find that one or two nurses on the planet who were taught the proper way to do nursing procedures, but choose to do it “their” way in real life.  Incompetent nurses don’t last long in real life, though. 

Imagine you’re a nursing student, and have practiced your nursing skills on rubber people for months and months.  Then comes the day your clinical instructor informs you that you’ll be catheterizing Ms. So-and-so in Room 839.  Not to worry – you’ve done this before, just not on a real live patient.  How hard can it be, right?  Then your instructor informs you that Ms. So-and-so might be a little testy, since two real live nurses have already attempted to catheterize her without success. 

This is exactly what happened to our classmate T, the tall blonde Viking goddess.  So T, our instructor, and three of us classmates all trooped into Ms. So-and-so’s room to do this thing.  Our instructor had a most ornery grin on her face as she explained to the patient why we were there.  The mildly overweight patient took one look at the tall blonde Viking goddess and said, “You get one shot at this.”

Thank the good Lord she wasn’t MY patient.  I would have dissolved into a puddle of tears at those words.  I was already a nervous wreck and I was just there to observe.  The patient then asked T if she had done this before.  With all the aplomb of a seasoned nurse, T replied, “Oh my gosh, yes, hundreds of times.  Don’t worry about a thing.”  She then proceeded to insert a catheter into an irate, mildly overweight patient without a hitch.  We observers were in total awe, and tried very hard not to act like we were all holding our breath during the procedure.  T was a star that day.  What a gal!

My point here is that T was following that advice.  She walked in that room with confidence, and instilled that confidence in the patient, so everyone relaxed just a little bit, and the procedure went off like gangbusters.  Your attitude can make a large difference to a patient, and can make your job so much easier.

Mrs. J had other sterling qualities that made her an excellent nurse and instructor – things like patience, compassion, empathy, kindness – but what I remember most about her is the advice she gave us.  It is invaluable advice and has served me well lo, these many years.

Thank you, Mrs. J.  I’ve never forgotten you!

HAVE A MOST ENJOYABLE HOLIDAY WEEKEND!

THANK YOU TO ALL WHO SERVE AND THEIR FAMILIES!

EAT, DRINK, BE MERRY, AND STAY SAFE!

ADVENTURES IN NURSING

MRS. GIGGLES

This lady was the very definition of “a hoot.”  She was morbidly obese, had the sweetest little face I’d ever seen, and very much enjoyed skewering you with the truth about yourself, accompanied by an evil little grin.  She and B (my former best friend), were the first to diagnose me as passive-aggressive, all because of my love/hate relationship with nursing school.  Thanks for that insight, Mrs. G!

She was our instructor at our second nursing home clinical.  It was her personal mission to ensure that we had lots of fun, while still learning what we needed to know.  She was a slave driver, but so much fun to be around that we didn’t care.  I have never giggled so much while sober as I did during that time. 

My most outstanding memory of Mrs. G involved a relatively attractive 20-something young man who was being rehabbed for something or other.  The student assigned to him reported to Mrs. G that he had an interesting tattoo.  That’s all she needed to hear.  Immediately, she led all eight of us female students en masse to his room, insisting that we all needed to see his body art as part of our education.  Gawd, I loved that woman!

Said patient was only too happy to comply.  He was apparently inordinately proud of the word “WOW” inscribed on his butt for all eternity.  Mrs. G was a giggly mess by this time, but collected her wits long enough to note that, if he stood on his head, his tattoo would say “MOM.”  Now, there’s a thought to make any mom proud, right?  The fringe benefit of all this was that this man did, indeed, have an excellent derriere, and we all enjoyed being able to view it, for clinical reasons only, of course.

And we thought Mrs. B-1 was outrageous!    

NEXT UP:  MRS. J 

ADVENTURES IN NURSING

MRS. B-2

B-2 was much more laid back as a classroom instructor than her counterpart.  Most of the time, this was a good thing.  Sometimes, though, it resulted in long, boring discussions as she attempted to justify why she wasn’t going to change someone’s quiz or test grade.  There was always some student who was willing to engage B-2 in this futile attempt.  One had to wonder if the student was doing it purposely just to fill up the time B-2 should have been teaching us something ... anything!

She had some fascinating stories to tell.  She had begun her career as a nursing assistant, became an LPN, went on to get her RN, and then her Master’s so that she could teach.  She was fond of telling us how she had once weighed 300 pounds, and then became “half the woman she was back then.”  She taught us that a 150-pound woman, if she used proper body mechanics, could transfer a 300-pound man from bed to chair without assistance.  I personally never tested her assertion.  Maybe Hoyer lifts weren’t around in her nursing assistant days.

I’ve never forgotten a story she told us one Monday morning.  She was “parrot-sitting” for a friend the previous weekend, and was cleaning out his cage before the owner came to pick him up.  She opened the cage door and allowed the bird to fly out for a little “free time” during the chore.  Unfortunately, she had forgotten that her ceiling fan was on.  Yep, you guessed it.  The poor parrot flew immediately into the fan, and parrot parts went flying hither and yon all over the room.  I’ll never be able to erase the image I get from that incident from my brain. 

B-2’s flightiness worked in my favor one day.  Remember the injection test I failed?  My second test was supervised by B-2.  I was a nervous wreck, knowing this was my last chance to get signed off on it or I wouldn’t be going to first-year clinicals, which would have opened up a whole big old can of worms.  I swabbed the mannequin’s arm and remembered to leave the swab in place.  I took the cap off the needle and by this point, my hands were shaking so badly, I immediately dropped the syringe on the floor. 

As luck would have it, Mrs. B-2 had been distracted by another instructor in the room, and didn’t even notice when I quickly bent over, swooped up the syringe, and returned to a standing position before she turned back around to observe.  At least I think that was the case.  Either way, she didn’t mention it and I wasn’t about to.  I proceeded with the injection and BOOM, just like that, I had passed.  My knees went weak, I tell ya.  Just for the record, a future clinical instructor told me that I gave the best IM injections she had ever seen from a student.  I just needed to get past that terrifying test.

While B-2 could get quite monotonous at times, she did make more of an effort to be friendly than B-1, who preferred to keep things business-like most of the time.  She also got quite the kick out of seeing cute hunky married guy blush, which he did quite often.  Of course, the rest of us got quite the kick out of that, too.  He was just so easily embarrassed.

Another incident involving B-2 was when four of us reported to her that we had seen a particular high-schooler cheating on quizzes.  She wasn’t all that good at being sneaky about.  In fact, she was actually quite obvious about it.  B and I both saw it, and a couple of the other students asked us about it.  That’s when we decided to report it.  We were told early on in the program that we were obligated to report such things, so we went as a group to inform Mrs. B-2. 

Just a few days later, after I had finished that day’s quiz, I noticed the student glancing at her neighbor’s paper once again, and at that moment B-2 happened to look up and notice what was going on.  The student was out of the program the next day.  Cheating is a major infraction in any situation in the real world.  I felt badly for the student, but that behavior was unacceptable.  If you have to cheat to get through the program, then chances are good that you’re not going to be a good nurse.

NEXT UP:  MRS. GIGGLES

ADVENTURES IN NURSING

MRS. B-1

We had two classroom instructors and Mrs. B-1 was my absolute favorite, hands down.  She was smart.  She was organized.  She was political.  She was no nonsense.  She was outrageous.

She strode into class each day determined to pound some necessary knowledge into our brains come hell or high water.  She was relentless.  On the days when we would review the components and functions of a certain organ or system, she would have each of us, one by one, explain from start to finish like an assembly line.  There was no stalling or heming or hawing.  If you didn’t spew the answer within a few seconds, she moved on to the next person.  She was tough but we loved her.

She above all of our instructors encouraged ... practically demanded ... that on that bright shining day when we finally became nurses, we should immediately start working to change the nursing profession for the better.  We were so clueless, or at least I was.  I had no idea the profession needed changing.  FYI:  It does.

Before our first-year clinicals began, it was necessary that we learn how to give an IM injection.  We went through every orange in the state of Florida learning the techniques.  Okay, maybe it wasn’t EVERY orange, but pretty damn close.  I felt supremely confident on the day we were to take procedure test.  Mrs. B-1 had us all line up in the clinical classroom and one by one, we swabbed either the arm or the derriere of the big rubber humanoid lying in the bed.  I was thankful that I was near the end of the line and able to watch the other students working their magic.  “Piece of cake,” I thought.  If they could do it, then so could I.

At last, it was my turn.  I swabbed the proper area on the upper arm.  I picked up the syringe loaded with water.  I held it like a dart and inserted it into the previously-swabbed spot.  I pushed the plunger, and withdrew the syringe.  I capped the needle.  (We did that back then.)  There!  I had done it!  Whew! 

I was celebrating prematurely, unfortunately.  Mrs. B-1 looked at me and asked question one.  “How did you know where to shoot?”  I stammered something to the effect that I shot where I swabbed.  Question two:  “How do you know that’s where you swabbed?”  I was confused.  Was she not standing right there when I swabbed?  My brain was racing as I stood there trying to look confident.  “What was she talking about?”  She soon let me know.  I had unknowingly placed the alcohol swab on the bed beside the mannequin.  Ruh roh.  I should have left it in place on the upper arm.  Such a tiny mistake, but enough for me to flunk my injection test.  Mrs. B-1 was not cutting us any slack.  I grudgingly respected that but I was still devastated.

As my rotten luck would have it, B-1 was my instructor for first-year clinicals.  On our very first day in the nursing home, she watched closely as we practiced our glucose testing skills on each other.  As my rotten luck would again have it, we were an uneven number of students and I was required to test her blood sugar.  Luckily, I must have done it properly because she sent me on my way out to the floor, but that didn’t change the fact that it was 7:15 and I was already drenched in sweat.  This nursing stuff was nerve-wracking as hell.

My very favorite memory of B-1 was during our study of the female reproductive system.  On the day she was explaining all about the cervix, she informed us of how we could locate our own cervix, with the aid of a mirror, and encouraged us all to do so that night.  Umm ... I was probably not going to do that.  If I were curious enough, I would simply take another look at the pictures in my textbook.  That was good enough for me.

The next morning, she bustled into class, opened her book, looked at us all sitting there expectantly and stated, “Well, I’m sure you all went home last night and located your cervix, right?”  After several seconds of shocked silence, we all burst out laughing hysterically.  Who would have thought it?  Normally serious, business-like Mrs. B-1 had a wicked sense of humor.  That may have been our first hint that there is no modesty in the nursing profession.

Mrs. B-1 was my conscience after I began working as a nurse.  I often asked myself, “What would Mrs. B-1 do in this situation?”  I tried to live up to her standards, but they were tough ones.  I’m not sure I accomplished it very often, but I’d be proud to say that I was even half the nurse she was.  She inspired us all.              

        ADVENTURES IN NURSING

OUR CLASSMATES

Our class began with 43 students.  We graduated 29 two years later.  We lost 13 of those during the first quarter.  Nursing school has a way of weeding out the faint of heart early on.  The remaining “drop-out” was encouraged to leave by our instructors.  We all felt bad for her.  

She was a perfectly nice lady.  Her grades were excellent.  She just wasn’t catching on to the whole “ALL patients come first” concept.  She had good clinical skills with her own charges, but when asked to assist another student with care or a procedure, she would finish up her own chores (making beds, emptying bedpans, tidying rooms) first.  That didn’t set well with the Mrs. Bs, and off she went.  The last time I saw her, she was managing a Burger King and seemed perfectly content.

Let’s see what I remember of the others.  There was, of course, the cute, hunky, married guy, K, who became our class president.  Everybody loved him.  He was just that kind of guy.  He was funny as hell, and you could make him blush just by winking at him – another excellent student.  Damn!  This class was full of them.

There was J, a very serious, proper-looking 40-something lady.  I believe she was our vice-president.  I also believe she took more notes than any two people, which probably explains why she was an excellent student.  The competition for good grades was brutal!

We had a brother-sister act, B and D, late 30s.  They were rather an enigma.  They lived with their parents, and neither one had a driver’s license.  Their father provided their transportation every day.  I suspect they had some serious health issue that precluded them from driving.  They were somewhat shy, modest, and just all around a couple of sweet folks.

Then we had K, who was just real people.  She tended to stress out easily over quizzes, tests, and assignments.  One of her favorite things to do was debate her grades with the Mrs. Bs, earnestly trying to convince them that her answer COULD be right if you looked at it from THIS perspective.  It rarely worked, but that didn’t stop her from trying.  She had a wicked wit, too.  I liked that ... a lot.

Who else?  Oh yeah, R, a lady who became a good friend to B and me.  We visited each other’s houses, her daughter cut our hair, and she attended our graduation party.  She was pretty damn smart, too.  She moved to Texas after graduation and we’ve lost touch.  I sometimes wonder how nursing treated her over the years.

There was the tall, blond, beautiful Nordic-type lady, T1, who was a hoot-and-a-half.  She enjoyed muttering outrageous comments under her breath during lectures.  I sat next to her one quarter and she kept me in stitches, and also earned me some curious glares from B-1, who no doubt wondered what I found so amusing about the endocrine system.  If she only knew.

A few of the high-schoolers are worth mentioning here.  Four or five of them made it to graduation, which I considered a real testament to their time-management skills.  There were the two As, best friends, cheerleaders, and quite giggly.  They were both smart as whips, though, which used to piss me off no end.  I was so clueless at their age, my only claim to fame was winning a Latin spelling bee.  One thing I always thought was so unique about A1 was the fact that she still had all her baby teeth.  Isn’t that odd?  They looked like little Chiclets.  She was going to have to undergo major dental work and have them all pulled at some future date if she didn’t lose them naturally.

T was another cheerleader who was cute, funny, smart, and enjoyed a little underage drinking on the weekends.  We sat together another quarter and I began to live vicariously through her, enjoying hearing her stories as much as she enjoyed telling them.  She was a wild one!

J was our only male high-schooler, and he seemed a little embarrassed at the fact.  He tried to remain invisible most of the time, but he was so cute that the Mrs. Bs weren’t having any of that.  They both enjoyed watching these men blush!

There were many more classmates whose names and faces escape me at the moment.  I’m sure my memory will be jogged by future stories in this adventure in nursing.  Suffice it to say, though, that we were a motley crew.  We were tough.  We were tenacious.  We were determined.  We were delusional.  Wait!  No, scratch that last one!  That can’t be right!

NEXT UP:  A LITTLE ABOUT THE MRS. Bs

ADVENTURES IN NURSING

DAY FIVE OF NURSING SCHOOL

Look at us!  We made it to day five.  Now, let’s just see if we can make it THROUGH day five.  Oh, my – it looks like a few more folks have fallen by the wayside.  Ms. Hiccup is still here, as are most of the other high-schoolers.  They’re a hardy lot!

Per usual, we get yesterday’s quizzes back from both Mrs. B’s.  I haven’t failed one since that second day, and no matter how hard I study, B always gets a higher score than I do.  What’s her secret?  Being 12 years younger than me?  Being smarter than me?  Having a better memory?  She and I will have to talk.

Today’s lectures are finishing up with chapter one of A & P from B-1, and more fascinating stories from B-2, with a few nuggets of actual nursing information thrown in.  Keep those prefixes and suffixes coming.  I just can’t get enough of ‘em!

More good news!  We’ll have our first actual TEST on Monday from B-1 AND B-2.  Well, so much for enjoying our weekend, right?  Do these ladies even have hearts?  Probably.  Do they have lives?  Most definitely, ‘cause they’re not learning all this crap anew.  They’ve already been through that and obviously, we are to suffer as they did. 

They’re not much interested in any plans we may have had for the weekend, or the fact that some of us have kids, and responsibilities, and chores, and OTHER homework, in the case of the high-schoolers.  This is NURSING SCHOOL and we’d better just get used to it.  What’s that sound?  Thirty-plus nursing students groaning!  B-1 fakes a yawn.  B-2 just grins.  Hey, wait a minute.  Are they ENJOYING this?

B and I ride home in the near silence of exhaustion.  Later, she gathers up her children and is off to her sister’s house for the weekend.  She can’t get out of the house fast enough, as if that’s where all the evil lives.  Ha!  She can’t escape it.  It travels with her in the form of the five-pound A & P book, and all the notes from B-2.  Life is changing.

And that’s just week one of nursing school.  Even though it happened so many years ago, the memories are burned into my brain.  In retrospect, I suppose I could say it was the wake-up call I needed.  I tried to deny it but alas, there’s no room or time for denial when you’re a nursing student.  You either keep your feet in the stirrups, or you get thrown off the horse.  That’s the reality, and it was time to face it.  There really were no other options.  You just can’t fake your way through.

That night, after the kids were in bed, and I nodded off wearily over A & P, I kept reminding myself that “I can do this,” and “This is good for me,” I thought of all the nurses out there on the planet, and wondered HOW they did it, and was it REALLY good for me.  Hopefully, the answer to those questions, and more, would eventually be revealed.

Please be assured that I’m not gonna take you through each and every painful day one by one.  Future blogs will just hit the highlights and the memories that still stand out to this day.  There were good times and bad.  There were even a few times when we actually had fun, but the Mrs. B’s did try to limit that, lest we get spoiled by all the frivolity.  Nobody said nursing was fun.

ADVENTURES IN NURSING

OUR FOURTH DAY OF NURSING SCHOOL

Day #4 and we’re still going at it.  We’ve lost a couple more people by now.  They’re dropping like flies.  We’re getting friendly with a few of the grown-ups, and B and I are realizing that we’re not the only ones who are feeling like fish out of water.  Thank God.  That gives us hope.

Mrs. B-1 hustles in and begins to return yesterday’s quiz to us.  Shoot!  Darn!  Heck!  (Those are not the words that were going through my head, but they’re close enough.)  I failed my first quiz of nursing school.  Boy, do I feel like an idiot.  Not exactly the brilliant beginning for which I was hoping.  And look at B over there with her A minus.  Bitch!  (And I mean that in the best possible way.)  It just might behoove me to begin studying with her.  We can be our own little study group of two.  I do not want a repeat of this fiasco.  Time to get serious.

But wait there’s more!  Here comes today’s quiz on Chapter one of A and P.  Hey, I actually know some of this stuff.  Let’s say a silent prayer that I actually pass this one.  It’s only day four and my brain feels crammed with information already.  Do I actually need to know this crap?  Do people actually survive nursing school?  I suppose they must.

On to Chapter two of A and P.  Hustling right along.  Listen to lecture, take notes on lecture, rinse and repeat.  Occasionally, someone will ask a question and we get sidetracked for several minutes.  Mrs. B-1 doesn’t waste much time on such nonsense.  She’s got a schedule to maintain.  We’re welcome to visit the nursing library in the next room for additional information, but let’s stick to the lesson plan for now.  In other words, hear it, digest it, learn it, and spew it back out when you need to.  That’s how we do nursing school.  ARGHHH!

Blessed break time.  Time to stuff my face with junk food so my brain and body will continue to function.  Time to spend 15 minutes gossiping with our new friends, wondering who will be next to leave us.  We’re determined it won’t be any of us.  We are grown-ups after all.  Fingers crossed.

Time for Mrs. B-2, whose teaching style is completely different from Mrs. B-1.  First, naturally, we get today’s quiz from her, and I feel better prepared for that.  She then returns yesterday’s quiz, which I passed!  Just barely, but I’ll take it for now. 

Her lecture begins, but she’s easily distracted by questions.  Already a couple of people are using this to their advantage.  The lesson goes off on tangents, and there’s very little note taking because we’re getting very little real information from her.  We do, however, hear lots of stories from her nursing career.  Some of them are interesting, and some of them cause me to wonder why anyone ever wants to be a nurse.  B and I write notes to each other, wondering if this day will ever end.

It does end – finally.  We spend several minutes leaning against our car talking to a couple of classmates while we smoke our blessed cigarette.  The cute hunky married guy is becoming a friend, as is the lovely longhaired lady from the nearby Indian reservation town.  They seem just like us - real people with kids, too many bills, not enough money, and not enough time to get it all done.  We’re not alone!  Life is hard and nursing school is making it harder.  But, we’re on a mission and, by God, we’re gonna make this thing happen!  We will not be defeated!  We’re feeling pretty frisky since the next day is Friday.

NEXT UP:  DAY FIVE OF NURSING SCHOOL     

ADVENTURES IN NURSING

OUR THIRD DAY IN NURSING SCHOOL

Surprise!  We hadn’t quit yet!  B and I had to remind each other that this was our only hope to actually have a life, be independent, and make a difference.  We slogged through into Day Three!

Mrs. B-1 moseys in and hands out our first quiz.  Say whaaat??  B and I roll our eyes at each other.  Was she serious?  It appears that she was.  What was that lecture on again?  Oh, yeah, “The History of Nursing.”  Well, la-di-da.  Here we go, folks.

I was struggling.  Damn it, why hadn’t I read that handout?  I remember now – because in my all-fired wisdom, I found the subject matter boring and uninteresting.  Names, and dates, and places – OH, MY!  I couldn’t even make an uneducated guess at most of the questions.  Meanwhile, B sits next to me ticking off answers all willy-nilly.  Damn her for studying anyway. 

Lesson learned – nobody cares whether or not I found the subject boring and uninteresting.  If the instructor lectured on it, I damn well better remember it.  I’m pretty sure I was several shades paler as I handed in my half-answered quiz paper. 

After that debacle, Mrs. B-1 began hauling out our first textbook, “Anatomy and Physiology.”  Damn, that was a heavy book, and just chock-full of several hundred pages.  There was no time to riffle through it as we began to immediately learn the contents of Chapter One.  Now this stuff seemed a lot more interesting to me.

When break time rolled around, we were all a-buzz discussing our first quiz.  I wasn’t the only one caught unawares of the seriousness of this whole nursing school thing, it seemed.  Apparently, there was to be no easing into learning this stuff.  It was more “sink or swim,” and a few of us were feeling overwhelmed – on our third day. 

Well, would you look at this!  Here comes Mrs. B-2, with an armload of papers.  Are you freakin’ serious??  Another quiz?  Yep-a-doodle, another quiz – just like they told us.  Great googly moogly, what were these ladies trying to do to us, weed out the riff-raff?  I do believe that was their intention.  At least I was able to answer more questions than not this time.  That had to be a good sign, right?

My head was reeling as Mrs. B-2 collected our quizzes and began her lecture of the day.  I was giving myself my own private lecture about buckling down, learning how to study again, and taking this sh** seriously.  I definitely needed an attitude adjustment.  If I was going to sit through two years of this, and pay for it besides, I needed to put forth more of an effort.  Damn, that computer programming class was sounding better all the time.

At the end of the day, we walked out to the parking lot with a few classmates, all bemoaning the fact that we were not prepared for this.  B and I spent the ride home with me grilling her about the quiz questions.  “What did you put for yadda yadda yadda?”  “How about the one on blah blah blah?”  Cripes, I was worried.

We spent the hour or so before the kids arrived home from school reviewing the quiz material.  Now I was REALLY worried.  There was only one solution – STUDY MY A** OFF.  Reality bites.

Once all the kidlets were tucked in bed that night, B took herself off to her room with her “Anatomy and Physiology” book, while I sat at the kitchen table, taking notes on Chapter 1.  I was beginning to feel like a student.  I was also beginning to feel like an old woman.  Doubts began to creep in, but I forced myself to focus.  I wasn’t looking forward to seeing my quiz grades the next day.

NEXT UP:  OUR FOURTH DAY OF NURSING SCHOOL