On Nursing Stories

“And we all need a medicine man

All need a medicine man

Don’t we need a medicine man

His shaker and his rattle and his helping hand”

~ ‘Medicine Man’, by Bernie Taupin

from the B-side of the Elton John single “You Gotta Love Someone”, 1990

There’s an email that’s done the rounds of my inbox a few dozen times, mostly sent from nursing colleagues who found it worthy distraction.  It is a list with the heading “You know you’re a nurse when…” and it’s pretty amusing.  One item in particular refers to a nurse’s ability to discuss the most gruesome of tales in polite company, even over a meal, without feeling the disgust it evokes in others.  I’ve worked as a nurse for fourteen-odd years* now, so I’ve managed to have a few experiences of my own.  And now I’m sharing, in polite company.  Perhaps it’s best you don’t read while eating.

(My editor - bless her cotton socks because she is wonderful - has suggested a much stronger warning here.  Some of what you are about to read is “truly gross and disgusting”.)

Very early on in my career, I was working an afternoon/evening shift.  One of the first duties that required my attention was a round of observations on the patients I was caring for that day.  I wandered into each room, introduced myself and went about measuring their blood pressures, pulse rates, temperatures and suchlike.  The first patient had an elevated temperature.  I made a mental note to advise the doctor on duty.  The second patient, in the same room as the first, also had an elevated temperature.  Hopefully, I thought, they weren’t sharing a common bug.

Brow appropriately furrowed, I kept on with my rounds.  Third patient - another rip-roaring temperature.  Fourth and fifth as well.  Panic rising, I figured the only sane, reasoned and logical explanation was that we had an epidemic of goodness-knows-what and that the relevant authorities were surely going to quarantine the ward lest we spread whatever lethal virulence I had uncovered.

Turns out every patient whose temperature I took (via an oral thermometer), had just had a nice mouthful of tea or coffee.  I was following the tea lady handing out afternoon refreshments.  Disaster was averted.

I don’t seem to have a particularly acute sense of smell.  I think part of that is a nurse’s innate defense mechanism.  That being said, the worst thing I have ever smelled would have to be a gangrenous limb on an elderly diabetic woman who had undergone a series of amputations, as well as a barrage of intravenous antibiotics.  Sadly, it was to no avail.  She quickly became septic and died within a few short days.  I nursed her near the end of her life, and it was a constant struggle to manage her pain, while keeping her clean (the antibiotics had rendered her bowel motions green, liquid and uncontrollable), as well as carefully tending her newly formed above-knee stump.  The gangrene caused the flesh of her stump to turn an inhuman grey and literally rot through the sutures holding it together.  The stench was nearly overwhelming, like raw meat left in the sun too long.  

I should point out that it was only the smell that I am comparing to meat.  I can still see that lady’s face, especially her eyes.  That image seared into my consciousness, serves as a reminder that I am looking after people, not just bodies.  I hope that I was able to contribute to her dignity and comfort in that time.

Life on the ward was not all serious.  Collecting various specimens for testing was frequently an interesting process, especially when those specimens were the various waste products that the body produces.  One lady in particular that I remember, needed to have a urine sample collected.  I knew that this would be difficult due to poor bladder control and troublesome mobility issues.  I explained what I needed, and the next time she felt the urge to urinate, I quickly placed a specimen cup inside a bedpan, which slid into a frame underneath a mobile commode.  I assisted the lady onto the commode and wheeled her into the bathroom for privacy, figuring if the cup was reasonably central, I might manage to catch at least something that was able to be tested.

The buzzer from the bathroom indicated she was all done.  As I was wheeling my patient back to her room , she sheepishly admitted that she had moved her bowels, likely making any urine sample unusable, not to mention giving me a job to clean up.  I reassured her, reminding her that there was always next time.

When the lady was back in her bed, I retrieved the bed pan from the underside of the commode, and found myself fighting back hysterical laughter. My patient had done by accident what was surely impossible to do on purpose: not a single scrap of the faeces was in the pan - it was all perfectly swirled in the specimen cup, sitting proudly in the centre of the pan like a befouled Mr Whippy cone.  I shared with my fellow nurses, who were impressed and amused in equal measure.

A colleague shared a story with me about a patient she visited at home.  The patient in question was enjoying a cup of tea when the nurse noticed an object inside the cup.  Inquiries were made and the patient fished a bottle of nail polish out of the cup, stating that the lid was stuck and she was hoping the tea would warm the bottle, making it easy to open.  She then sucked the tea off the outside of the nail polish bottle and offered it to the nurse with an encouragement to give the lid a go.

I had a story to top that though.  I once offered to clean a patient’s dentures after a meal.  She pulled the dentures out, examined them and proceeded to lick the encrusted food off them before giving them over.  Now, I’ve got a strong constitution, but even this memory has me gagging on the recount.

There are more anecdotes, and no doubt any nurse with a long enough career has a collection of amusing stories of their very own.  Perhaps, if I hear a few more in coming weeks, I’ll share them in kind.  Just don’t read them over dinner.

*in case you were wondering, the term “14-odd years” works in both senses.

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