I have actually wanted to write for awhile. Crazy things keep happening and I want to tell someone about them, but I don’t know who to tell. So I think, “oh, I’ll write about it on my blog.” But then I just don’t.
I had one day at work that was absolutely insane. Well first of all, in the morning on this day, I had determined that I only had 3 shifts left to work with my favorite co-worker, (let’s call her Jen because I’m sick of writing out “my favorite co-worker”) She told me early that morning that she was not going anymore. She went to visit the city where her new job would be, and hated it. She said there is no way she could live there, so there was no way she could take that job. It was the happiest I had felt in almost a month. Later that morning, the telemetry (heart monitoring) machine alarmed at the nurse’s station. I was the first one to look at it, and it was showing v-fib for a patient. V-fib is absolutely not compatible with life. The memory trick they taught us in nursing school was “v-fib, defib” (like get the defibrillator and shock them). I reacted immediately. I ripped the strip off the printer before it was even done printing and grabbed Jen, (because it was her patient,) who happened to be at the nurses station, too. I rushed by her, holding the strip up for her to see and said “this is your patient.” We both went running into the room. The lady was sitting in her recliner chair with her eyes rolling back in her head and her dentures falling down in her mouth. The adrenaline surged and we did not stop to think about anything. I snatched the dentures out of her mouth (with no gloves on…) so she wouldn’t choke on them. Then the two of us somehow easily lifted this lady out of her recliner chair and back in bed. I’ve heard that adrenaline can give people strength that they don’t normally have, but I had never experienced it before. The lady was a lot bigger than me. I only weigh 103 lbs right now. Jen ran around to the other side of the bed and slammed the code blue button on the wall. We rolled her over and got the board under her. Jen started CPR and then everyone was showing up. The resource nurse, our charge nurse, the nursing supervisor, the intensivest, every other nurse from our unit, someone brought the crash cart… it got crazy. Eventually I wasn’t helping anymore, but I was trapped in a back corner of the room watching and trying to stay out of the way. After only a couple rounds of compressions, Jen holds up her hands and says “wait wait! Stop…. she’s DNR.” And it was like someone letting the air out of a tire. They all took their hands off, everyone just sort of froze and watched. The lady was dead. People started leaving and just Jen and I and one other nurse remained. We turned the bright lights off and closed her eyes and fixed up her blankets over her so she looked like she was peacefully sleeping. Jen felt awful. “This is exactly what she didn’t want.”
Later that day, APS had to get involved for spousal abuse. A patient confided in her nurse about the things her husband did. It was a sad situation. The husband ended up visiting later and we had to call security.
Also that day, One of my patients was in his mid-twenties with a suspected eating disorder. It rattles me a lot to have patients with ED’s. It has only happened one other time, but I was really messed up about it for almost a month. Especially because both of the patients I have had with it have been my age within a couple months.
After all of those dramatic things going on in just one shift, we were all sitting at the nurses station 30 min before change of shift, so ready to leave, and one nurse asked another sweet, shy nurse how she got the scars on her chest. We had all seen them, but nobody had ever asked. You just don’t ask about stuff like that. None of us were prepared for what she said: She was involved in a shooting at her school. Her ex-boyfriend shot and killed her best friend and then shot her in the leg, shoulder, and finally the face before killing himself. She said the bullet went in her mouth and came out her neck. Hearing her tell the story with all the details was amazing and unbelievable at the same time. What is more amazing is that she told it like it happened 20 years ago, when really it was only 2 years ago. I finally got home that night with my mind absolutely reeling after all of the events from the day.
Maybe it was the patient with the eating disorder that triggered me like last time, but since that day I have had way more trouble with food. Taken in ~600 calories from food and drink every day the past 3 days (and burned 1500.) Way below my norm. I have a Fitbit with heart rate tracking. If you don’t know what it is, it is like an exercise watch that counts your steps, calories burned, stairs climbed, distance, and mine also does continuous heart rate monitoring. My resting heart rate is usually 70-72. But when I’m having issues it dips a little lower, usually bottoming around 62 before I recover. Well right now it is lower than it has ever been. Bradycardia is the term for slow heart rate, and the general definition is less than 60 beats per minute is bradycardia. Over 100 is tachycardia, or fast heart rate. When our patients are on the tele monitor, we keep an eye on heart rate. Mine got so low last night that if I were my own patient, I would have paged the doctor. I got down to 44 bpm. I felt hypoglycemic at bed time, and I was scared I would crash in my sleep and not wake up so I ate half a Hersheys bar before bed. I slept for almost 10 hours. Woke up feeling like I’m dying. I forced down some food, although I am at the point now where I am legitimately not hungry and food makes me nauseous. But I forced some down because my heart was pounding, my chest hurt, my head was spinning and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get up if I waited too long… I’m worried. But not because I’m at a dangerous crossroads here. I am worried that I’m not worried about what I am doing to myself. I’m worried that something will happen to me and my daughter will witness it and be scarred for life. As a nurse, I know exactly what I’m doing to myself, and I know that it is very dangerous. I keep counting calories, trying to take in as few as possible, and then thinking “what am I doing? What do I have to prove?” It makes no sense. While it has never been a body image issue, I am getting more and more obsessive about it. I never used to count calories. I never used to stand in the mirror like I did last night and try to see how skinny I look from every angle. Not because I am fat. Not because I think I am fat. Not because I want to lose weight per se, but there is satisfaction in seeing my bones through my skin. I ate about an hour ago, and also drank a nutrition shake with vitamins and stuff. I feel full, but my body doesn’t feel better. I am still in a fog, I get dizzy if I turn my head too fast or stand up, my muscles ache and my chest still hurts a little. At least, however, my heart rate is now 72. Where it should be.
I tried to make a doctor appointment to get back on meds. I did not want to say that it was urgent, though, so I just asked for “a physical” and they did not have any openings until a week into October. That is way too far away. If I can get my courage up I may call today to see if they have any cancellations for today or tomorrow. I need to do something. Since dying is absolutely not an option, I need to be functional. I need to be healthy. I have to stay here for my babygirl. On her first day of school, she came out to meet me and held up a picture she drew: two stick people with wild hair and big smiles on their faces. “It is me and you, mommy!”
I have to call the doctor again. I have to get better. I owe it to her. I have been dipping below my norm for way too long now. It’s time to fight back.
thedepressednurse 