"When Was Your Last Bowel Movement?" ... "Um. Right Now?"

     I have the utmost respect for the nursing profession. Nurses are often more knowledgeable than physicians, have to interact with patients a lot more, and rarely get the respect and recognition they deserve. The majority of the nurses on the 1400 Unit at Strong are fantastic and I was incredibly lucky to have been under their care during both of my recent stays at the hospital.

     Jon was hot…hot and about my age. He was also extremely nice and suffers from Crohn’s disease himself. This made things easy because he understood what I was going through. It made it awkward because he was hot… “Jon, There is stuff [and by stuff, I mean urine and ostomy output ((poop))] in the bathroom [for you to measure and dispose of].” How unsexy can you get, really?... “Jon, I need someone to get me gauze so I can change the dressing on this incision…” You want to see the incision…OK. As I pull down my panties to show you, you can see my vagina as well. Not very sexy either.

     Jon and I bonded over our commonalities however. Dy and I had a common bond too: We both love Grey’s Anatomy. (My sister, mother, and I watched all 7 seasons while I was in the hospital, compliments of Ms. Kristin) Dy would come in to check on me (the nurses often worried about me because I never bothered them and was pretty quiet) and spend time in my room just to watch some Grey’s with us.

     Then there was Pat. Pat was a spitfire. You could tell when Pat was working…you heard her anywhere on the ward. The first night I met Pat, she came in my room as I was about to go to bed. She checked me over and then told me I needed to walk. My ankles and feet were swollen from all the fluids I was receiving. Pat informed me that I was a “young healthy girl” and that I should be up and about. She told me she expected to see me around the unit. I got up for Pat and walked the halls at 10 pm as I listened to Eminem on my Ipod. Needless to say, I was a little sore the next day. Pat was inspiring…even though she had a way of coming in and talking to you forever when you just wanted to sleep.  

     I got excited to learn which nurse was assigned to me. I was usually cool with whoever I got because they didn’t need to do too much for me. I changed my own dressings and had my sister and mom around during the day to help me with anything I needed. Sometimes I also got nervous to learn who I was assigned to. While I loved the majority of nurses on my unit, there were a few that I deemed incompetent and dreaded having.

     For example, there was Suzette. I first met Suzy-an extremely short, plump, balding lady- when I had to be taken down for a CT scan during my initial stay in the hospital. She decided to accompany me and my transport person down to radiation. She had a difficult time moving the stretcher I was sitting on and continually received dirty looks from the transport person, as well as my overprotective mother and sister (who became my personal nurse while in the hospital to make sure no one killed me). After my CT scan, someone decided that Suzy could take me back up to my room without a transport professional. Bad call. She started moving me as the radiation dude yelled, “You need to put the railing up.” She paused and simply stared at him. He said again…twice, in fact… “You need to put the railing up.” Confused, she finally realized that she had failed to put up the side railing on my stretcher. “Oh, I was just about to do that.” Yes, Suzy, I am sure you were just about to do that. I am glad you did because with your driving, I would have fallen out and injured myself. Even with the railing up, I almost died. Before we really got going, she discovered that we didn’t have my chart. She attempted to go into the CT room, leaving me in the middle of the hallway. My sister had to move my stretcher so I wasn’t blocking the pathway. Then Suzy could not access the CT room and had to knock on the door to get someone to let her in. Once we finally got moving, we almost hit another stretcher and then were almost taken out by a garbage bin. I survived, however.

     The next time I was assigned Suzette, I asked the nursing supervisor to reassign me. The supervisor obliged. I was assigned Suzy a few more times during my stay and usually just put up with it because I did not want to cause trouble. Mom and Katie were usually there to protect me anyways. I also found little ways to mess with her and entertain myself. I liked to have my sister help me raise my IV pole, so when Suzette came to change my medications or fluids, she couldn’t reach them. The one day when she came to make my bed while I was showering, my sister informed her that I liked the blue pads on my bed. Staring up at the blue pads on top of my very tall cupboard, my sister softly chuckled to herself as she offered to get them for Suzette.

     Suzette also liked to praise me for doing things by myself. Perhaps she was used to more elderly patients who were unable to be self-sufficient, but I found the accolades highly annoying. As I would get out of bed by myself or change my dressings myself (usually because I did not want her touching me), I would hear a “Oh, Great Job Amanda!” …Really.

     Because Strong is a teaching hospital, I also had to deal with student nurses. One memorable nurse was Ukrainian. I cannot remember how to pronounce or spell her name. I do remember that she introduced herself and, after asking a few preliminary questions, asked “When was your last bowel movement?” “Um… Right now…” She stared at me for a minute as I explained that I have ostomies. She then asked where I would like my shot of Heparin. “In your stomach?” …No my dear student nurse. I do not want a needle shoved into my stomach. Where do you plan on finding enough skin to shove the needle into? I have two ostomies and a large T-shaped hole in my stomach. The only area left on my torso is near my lungs. Please shove the needle into my arm instead. She then lectured me about wearing leg compression things to prevent blood clots (I walk, thank you.) and using my breathing machine (I haven’t used it because I spent my first night in the hospital in the ER and yesterday I was in an ungodly amount of pain. My last thought was: Oh, I should really be practicing my breathing so my lungs don’t fill with fluid). *shakes head*  

     Then of course, there are your home health care nurses. It is extremely convenient to have a nurse come to your home to get bloodwork done and have the necessary dressings changed (I can’t change my own IV site dressing because it is a sterile procedure). The county doesn’t always hire the best nurses, however. The nurse who came the other day forgot to take her shoes off. After tracking mud through the whole living room, she apologized profusely. I told her it was fine. It really wasn’t. After I explained all my stomas and incisions (they send a new nurse each time and I have to explain this once a week) and she did her thing, she left. Then I got down and scrubbed the floor for a while. (I later had to scrub the floor again because the Freschetta pizza I ate for lunch did not agree with me and I vomited everywhere. I am sure Freschetta didn’t mean it, but I hold a grudge against the company. I can eat other brands of pizza without staining the carpet with partially digested sauce…).

  

     I would like to reiterate that I have the utmost respect for nurses and the hard work that they do. I could never be a nurse…I would kill someone first and it probably wouldn’t be a complete accident. I just don’t have the patience to deal with patients. Until nurses stop asking me when my last bowel movement was however, I cannot stop telling the ridiculous collection of stories I have about them.