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!
Bwahahahahaaaaaaa!!! You know me...I think this is hilarious, but I know it wasn't when it happened. I could never have worked in a nursing home or other related facilities because old people scare me. I've visited older relatives before in a nursing home and I was so leery of everything. For one, I know things are always stolen. If its not under lock and key...good bye property. At least it was like that at the nursing home I had visited. Hopefully its not like that everywhere. But I'm glad you were able to cope with that environment. My hat is off to you...the "hat" that you never wanted to wear ^-^
ReplyDeleteDani, you crack me up! Yeah, old people SHOULD scare ya! They can be mean little critters, as this story shows. For the most part, my career in geriatrics was very rewarding, but there was the occasional "adventure" of being verbally and physically abused. Thank God most nurses have a very sick sense of humor, and learn to laugh these little glitches off! Ya know, I kept that "hat" for several years afterward. It always brought a smile to my face.
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