A broken weekend for me as I was off Saturday night. The Official Designated Driver for Smo's 30th Birthday Bonanza, which is deserving of it's own post. More details to come.
Friday at work went well. Nothing too exciting happened, which is how I like it. I like it when work is steady without any major setbacks. If, by some miracle, patients actually sleep during the night, time draws out and we are left, bored and watching the clock.
One of our well-known patients died this weekend, and I just happened to be in the room when he took his last breath. With the wife standing there. Awkward! I hate being the one to tell the family when a patient has died, because I can never be prepared enough for the reaction, which is varied. Sadness, grief, wailing and screaming. Sometimes there's anger directed at staff for "not doing enough". Some families are great to work with, some not so much. There's been a lot of death around the house. Indy (coworker), reports a large number of kids dying. I'm glad I don't work in pediatrics.
I had a pretty sick patient this morning, who decided she didn't want to do well at 4:30 with a heart rate hitting the 180's range. The whole situation gave me that sinking feeling, which usually accompanies the code cart. The resident on call looks like he's not even old enough to drive a car, much less save a life. He relays a couple half-assed orders which leave the nurses blinking and looking at each other with that "is he serious?" look. Most residents are completely oblivious to this look. So are most seasoned doctors, for that matter.
I was pretty happy to come home.
A flurry of activity going on next door as Mom and Mr. Recommendation prepare the house for move-in. Painting, the pulling up of the hideous old carpet. The installation of new, shiny kitchen appliances which have me green with envy.
Mom wasn't feeling well on Saturday as she was doing laundry in her new washer and dryer. Because any type of illness can affect diabetes and blood sugar, her sugars were precariously low and she was acting like a space cadet. While still in my pajamas, I drug her over to my house and made her eat a spoonful of peanut butter and watched her until she was able to form complete sentences.
When Mom was first diagnosed with diabetes, she got zero education from her doctor. Nothing on nutrition (save for a pamphlet), nothing on what to look for if your sugars are too high or too low. Dr. Retard just gave her insulin and sent her on her merry way. The first time her blood sugar bottomed out, she went unconscious, leaving Stepdad terrified and not knowing what to do. As a result, she no longer takes the insulin. She really didn't need it in the first place.
Whenever I think about it, I want to drive to Dr. Retard's office and kick her square in the taco with a pair of steel-toed boots.
At any rate, next weekend is the big moving weekend.
Then, I will officially have new neighbors.