I called Dr. Dum-Dum to notify him that his patient wasn't producing any urine. None. A severe non-compliant diabetic, the kidneys were marking their farewell tour. And headlining the event, was a pretty bad UTI. I even did a preemptive bladder scan that showed that the patient's bladder was drier than Betty White's vagina.
"Put a catheter in," Dr. Dum-Dum suggested. "So we can measure how much urine she makes."
Because residents are new, and sometimes need a little help, I gently explained that the patient was not making any urine, and therefor, would not be any to measure. And introducing a foley would not encourage her to make any. Not to mention it's not a good idea to put a foley in someone who already has a UTI. Dr. Dum-Dum wanted to press forward because even doing a stupid thing is apparently better than doing nothing at all. I followed the phone call by pounding my head on the desk. Not only was this UTI patient in renal failure, she also weighed close to 400lbs.
If that doesn't cap off the shittiest week over, I don't know what does.
Because I believe in sharing the joy, I enlisted our newly minted Unit Coordinator to help. She blanched when I told her what we were doing, and who we were doing it on. Baptism by fire, I always say.
So, we gathered what we needed, said good-bye to our families, and entered the room.
If some random staff member would have walked into the room at the time, the sight that would have greeted them is as follows:
- Bed raised in slanted position with feet on the air. Every single light in the room turned on.
- Four hundred pound patient holding her belly up away from her No-No Area.
- Two RN's, in yellow isolation gowns, glistening with sweat. You can't see where there hands are. You don't know want to find out.
- Short blond RN is scowling, and possibly looking like she's going to bust out into sobs. Foley catheter tube in one hand, she's muttering about not being able to see anything.
- Bad smell permeating the room.
- Unit Coordinator looking bewildered.
By some divine miracle, I got the catheter in. I really couldn't see where it was supposed to go as the No-No Area looked more like the Fantastic Caverns in Springfield. I'm sure if I would have shouted my name into her vagina, it would have echoed back. At the end, I just hoped for the best and that the catheter maybe had some sort of homing device that would find the bladder, which is where it ended up.
The patient did share later that she hadn't had sex in two years.
ARRGGGHHH!!!! Why in the HELL would you tell your nurse something like that? It's not like I needed to know. You're not on a gynecology floor with a bad STD and I want to know your sex history. I, nor the nachos sitting in my stomach, didn't want to know this little gem of information. Later, I was left with the very unsettling feeling that I may have been her two-year drought-buster, for as close and involved as we were with that catheter placement.
Guys like to think that all women fantasize about being with other women. When you deny this, they accuse you of being a liar. It can be safely said that experiences like this, reaffirm my staunch heterosexuality. I'm all about the penis. And only about the penis. And there is not one thing wrong with that.
On a side note, last week can kiss my ass.