Abdominal pain & nausea = a burger and coke?

Seems like that sentence is backwards right? It should be “a burger & coke = abdominal pain.” Except last shift it wasn’t. Patient with long standing abdominal pain & nausea of unclear etiology (read: there’s no organic or radiological evidence to suggest a reason for the abdominal pain) with multiple ER and hospital admissions for IV pain control and GI rest. So we throw the bus at her: nasogastric tube for GI decompression/rest (refused), nothing by mouth (complained), IV Dilaudid for pain (Yay!), encouraged mobility, because believe it or not, your gut likes you to walk (refused). Flash forward three days when she finally wakes up out of her stupor when docs decrease her narc dose and lengthen the amount of time in between doses (irate!) and liberalize her food options (your food sucks!). This is generally how these stories play out. And yet I surprise myself because I still get surprised when the first thing they order after DAYS and DAYS OF PAIN AND NAUSEA is a cheeseburger and coke. Two cokes and “put this one in the fridge!”

It’s like a hip replacement wanting to do yoga or a triple bypass itching for some cross fit the day after surgery. Doesn’t happen like that. So if this sounds like you…at least try and fake it, for my sake. Order some jell-o first.

Nursing and waitressing

I waited tables and bartended to pay my way through nursing school. I remember thinking, during particularly busy dinner shifts with customers who were high maintenance or angry or demanding or just determined to be unsatisfied, that things would become SO much better when I graduated from nursing school and became a real nurse. NOBODY would order me around, treat me like a servant, talk down to me, attempt to make me feel inferior or repeatedly send me back to the supply area for extra condiments. NOBODY! I would be the EXPERT! I would have POWER! (that I would wield responsibly of course…)

Surprise! Ten years later…I get ordered around, treated like a servant, talked down to, attempted to be made to feel inferior, and repeatedly sent back to the supply room for extra condiments. Except the condiments are drugs. Lots of ’em.