Beware of Scooters

Recently I learned a new hazard of my profession…electric scooters (aka Rascals).  What is considered a “helpful” advantage for the elderly, disabled, or just plain lazy can actually be a threat to those of us who are still fully ambulatory. 

These contraptions have always made me slightly nervous.  I’m not exactly sure why.  Perhaps it has something to do with their awkward size or ability to go a little too fast, but most likely it is due to their drivers.  I’ll admit (because I’ve had the experience), steering one of these things can actually be quite tricky.  Like any motorized vehicle one must practice turns, speeds (yes a picture of a rabbit and a turtle is actually provided), and be familiar with its dimensions. 

This being said, I’ll cut to the chase and give a brief description of my encounter:

Upon giving a patient his pre-op instructions I was accidentally hit by his scooter when he was attempting to leave my cubicle.  Instead of going backward he went forward–right into my chair.  (Luckily he wasn’t going full-throttle on rabbit speed).  Basically I was lightly bumped and uninjured (the chair absorbed most of the impact), but surprised to say the least. 

Given the fact that he was in his eighties and a nice gentleman I was not offended.  Accidents happen.  However after his mistake he did not apologize.  Actually he barely acknowledged it, which leads me to believe this was not the first time for this to occur. 

Of course, as luck would have it, I was his nurse when he came for surgery.  I made a mental note to stay away from his scooter so long as he was on it.  (Anesthesia, being in your eighties, and having a history of bad driving simply do not paint a pretty picture).

Due to my planning I was able to avoid further injury, although on this day I was the one to do something “bad.”   When the patient was ready to get out of bed I went to fetch his ride which was parked out in the hallway.  Upon seeing the scooter I realized I didn’t even know how to turn the thing on.  I pushed a few buttons (actually all of the ones that I could see), but the power remained off.  I had to go back to the room and ask the patient for directions.  Once I got it “running” I attempted to back it up only to have it lurch forward.  Ooops.  To make matters worse it was set on rabbit speed and parked right next to a water fountain.  It was one of those moments where you hope no one is looking, and I’m pretty sure no one was.  I did however manage to put a small dent in the black metal basket hooked on the front (which of course I bent back so that there was no evidence of a collision).  Basically it was an “awkward Aimee moment.”  I was able to remain composed, but had anyone else witnessed it I probably would have cracked up.  Instead I just had a nice internal laugh and returned to the room with a smile, which the patient probably found a bit confusing.

Ever Heard of a Murse?

I’ve learned a lot working at the VA, but perhaps the most important lesson I’ve received is my schooling on a murse, otherwise known as a man’s purse.  First off I’d like to state that this piece is in no way meant to offend or slam men’s accessories.  I of all people am aware that without proper accessorizing true fashion cannot really exist.  Before coming to the VA my knowledge of this important wardrobe stable was mostly limited to its occasional mention in the media.  (Remember the Friend’s episode that paid tribute to Joey’s “man bag?”)  Fortunately, thanks to a very special patient of mine I am now much more familiar with the murse.

 

My lesson began when I called this particular gentleman from the waiting room.  At first nothing about this encounter struck me as odd, but as my patient rose from his seat he reached for and picked up a woman’s handbag.  My initial thought was that the purse belonged to his wife and that maybe she was using the restroom and didn’t want to lug the bag with her, as so many of us women prefer not to do.   For a split second I contemplated asking the patient if he would like to wait until his wife returned, but he had grabbed the bag with such confidence that I chose to refrain.  I was sure that the purse would get back to his wife eventually.

 

Because this individual was scheduled for cataract surgery I needed to confirm his ride home.  When I asked him this question it turned out to not be his wife/girlfriend (you’d be surprised at how many in the over 70 crowd do have girlfriends)/daughter or significant other.  Hmmm…whose purse was he carrying around?  Had he accidentally grabbed the wrong bag? 

 

After he had changed into his hospital gown and settled himself onto the stretcher our conversation went something like this:

 

“So, have you had cataract surgery before?”

“No, but I need to get it done so I can go back to school.”

“Oh that’s great!  What will you study?”

“I’m going to get my pilot’s license, but I have to get the other eye fixed too.”

“Oh….” 

 

(I glance at his birth date; he’s in his 70’s.  I glance at his medical history; no mention of dementia, stroke, etc).  He goes off to surgery.

 

Upon his return this patient was not in my care, but thankfully my co-worker unselfishly shared her experience of his post-operative care with me and so, I was able to learn my valuable lesson.

 

Apparently as this patient was getting ready to go he asked the nurse if she knew the difference between a man and woman’s purse.  Her answer was no.  (We’ve all learned you can’t say yes to these types of questions.  The answer is coming regardless of our desire for free education). 

 

            “Well,” he states, “A man’s purse is organized and a woman’s purse is not, therefore

            this is called  a murse.”  (He opens up his bag and proudly lets her peek inside). 

            “I got this murse at a garage sale.  It was one dollar.” 

 

 

Old People

Yesterday I took care of a 98 year old man. He doesn’t drive, walks to the local market, and is the primary caregiver for his wife with Alzheimer’s. He’s been married for 72 years and 2 weeks. When I asked him how he was, he responded, “terrible,” but had a huge smile on his face. He said that people should not make him angry because he’ll live even longer:

“If I get really angry I might live to be 110 or 115 just to make them mad.”

When he left he asked me if I wanted “boy candy” and handed me 2 tootsie rolls.

I like old people.

Written January 24, 2008

Only at the VA….

Only at the VA does maintenance decide to work on the pipes in the middle of the afternoon resulting in no water pressure.  Fine.  We’re nurses, we adapt, we’re flexible.  We’ll use hand sanitizer instead of lathering up and hope that the water is fixed…soon!

However what do we do with all the “stuff” that starts to accumulate in the toilets?  Hmmm….

Well, since there was no water pressure, or very little to be more precise, I decided that there would be no harm in flushing the toilet (after emptying my patient’s urinal) and waiting to see what happened.  The only problem was I waited too long. 

Basically I had an unfortunate lapse in judgment (either that or I was still feeling comatose from lunch).  After flushing the toilet the water started to get abnormally swirly and loud noises started to come from a very distant and eerie place.  Instead of backing away from the thrown (as most alert people would have done), I stayed and marveled at the show.  Big mistake!  What was I expecting to see?

As the noise got louder and the water more violent (by now it was starting to overflow) I decided that I needed to bolt and FAST.  Unfortunately I couldn’t get out of there quick enough.  The toilet made one last grunt and water shot out.  I was nearly out of spraying distance, but with my body half turned the VA’s mysterious water managed to splatter my left leg and one small, but very disturbing drop landed on yes, my face. 

Needless to say I was extremely disgusted.  The water appeared “clean.”  It was clear with no indication of sediments, but come on, how clean can toilet water really be?  I felt the cool moisture penetrating my scrubs and manifesting itself on my skin.  I was angry.  I told my co-workers what had happened and warned them not to flush the toilets unless they too wanted a very unclean and unexpected shower.  Basically my experience became a source of entertainment for the mid-afternoon lull.

Thirteen more weeks and counting!  If this had happened at any other institution I would probably have been more likely to laugh it off (while still feeling very appalled), but let’s face it, things of this nature are just more likely to happen only at the VA.