Today, I had two doors of job opportunities shut in front of me. Two disappointments and one dream job crushed in a matter of minutes.
I've been jumping hoops ever since I set foot in the States due to my international student status. As an international student, I have limitations such as not being able to work outside of school and not being able to receive most scholarships. Then, there is also the mountainous paper works and rules to follow to make sure you're not out of status. One step outside the line, and you're out of the country. I'm used to this. I'm used to the paper works, to not being able to have a part time job if there's not one at school, to not being able to get scholarship to pay for tuition. For years, I've adapted to this and I've sucked it up and gone on with it.
But I have never felt such anger in me until today when things were held against me just because of my status. It felt like everything I've been working hard for means nothing, because I didn't even have a chance to prove myself before I was told I cannot go further. It is unfair.
The hospital I interned at, the one I invested last summer, the one I counted on so much, told me they can't hire me because they don't sponsor immigrant visa. Even though I'll be on OPT (allows international students to look for a job and receive work training for a year after graduation), they won't hire because I'll only be working for them for less than a year, a year max. They knew when they hired me last summer that I was an international student, yet they never once mentioned the fact that they won't be able to sponsor me. Instead, I got encouragement to apply for their scholarship and employment, only to have both of those doors slammed in my face. I'm going to stop talking about them here, otherwise, it's going to turn into a hate mail.
Then the other hospital I had really wanted to work for--the one with the 3.5 GPA and no C's in nursing school requirements--scheduled an interview with me--whose GPA is lower than that 3.5, only to had to cancel it because they don't hire non-permanent resident workers. It was as if I had the dream not only within reach, but actually in my hands, then to watch it disappears in a second before I can start on making it happen.
After talking to several people, I realized that, with the current economy status, it is even harder for international workers to get a company that will hire them. The hospitals in the medical center here are on a hiring freeze, the numbers of employee they're hiring now is considerably lower than last year. I've heard stories of people accepting job offers, only to have HR called them and canceled on them. I've heard hospitals starting to close their doors on people like me, the ones without a permanent residency.
I'm not giving up on New York just yet. I'm still trying and I'll keep looking. Although, I have to start entertaining the idea of staying in Texas, I'm not quite ready to let go of my dream. Maybe, something good come out of this and I'll be able to move to NY as planned. Maybe, NY won't work and I'll have to stay in Texas. Either way, for now, I'm still fighting.
I have HESI in a week, and I need to focus on passing that instead of letting this lost get into me. I'm moving on. I have my faith, and I believe my future is in His hands. Whichever way it goes, there's always hope. Hope of better things, brighter future, and less hoops to jump. There's gotta be something better than this.
Special thanks and loves to my friends who have comforted me today as I cried, listened patiently as I ranted, and encouraged me to not give up on NY just yet. They are already the better things in my life.
Showing posts with label hospital. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hospital. Show all posts
Monday, March 23, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
What is this feeling?
As much as I'm at peace with my granmpa's death last summer, today I realized that I don't know if I'll ever be "okay" when I have patients in the similar situation my family and I went through that fateful July.
The first one happened last semester, and I wrote about it. At the time, I thought it was just a one time thing. It was my first and of course I was bound to feel...something. I thought it'd go away and but it didn't. Yesterday, I started to realize that one of my patients is dying and the family was finally able to made that difficult decision to let go of treatment and do palliative care instead. Today, everything is more...official, I guess. All PO meds are on hold, and the Morphine Sulfate surfaced in the order. Again, I got that uneasy feeling I did last semester.
I think what did it for me is seeing the Morphine PRN dose on the MAR first thing in the morning, just because that is the staple drug for end of life patients to keep them comfortable. It's become some kind of a sign for me that, yes, the time is near for that person. We were given doses of that, too, from the hospice care for Grampa when he went home from the hospital. I had to give him that, and so did my cousins.
Then my chest got thighter as I walked in the room. The patient is much like my Grampa was before he died. Eyes opened but no one is there. They can't talk and you wonder if they knew who you were, and you wish they remember who you were. They're just lying there, waiting for their time to come, and it's an excruciating wait for the family members.
It's a weird weird thing to experience, I can't say enough how uncanny it is to watch a dying person, especially when you've watched a family member went through it. I wasn't exactly sad or upset, I didn't feel like crying or breaking down. There is just...an uneasiness to it. There is a voice screaming in my head that this is the same thing as Grampa: the Morphine, the inability to talk, the waiting, the what happens when we bring him home, the ever present wondering of when he'd actually die. It keeps screaming I have been here before and I should never be reminded of it again.
But it's life. People die everyday, and unfortunately, you will witness that more times than you'd like. Heck, I'm only a student nurse and it already happened twice. My career awaits many a future experience of taking care and witnessing dying patients. After the first time, I thought I had to find a way to be okay with this, to erase that feeling out of me. But after today, I realized I can never make that feeling go away, and I'm accepting that I will forever be taken back to Grampa when that happens again. I will always take a sharp breath, my chest will always feel thight, and I'll always get this inexplicable feeling when I have a dying patient.
As if one dying patient isn't enough, the universe, of course, just has to mess around with me some more. Another patient on the floor, although wasn't mine, vomitted, had a seizure, and went into a code. (This was also a second code, the first one I saw was also last semester) Oh, the brouhaha of a code, there's nothing like it. It seems like, in a code, no matter how fast you're moving to get things, you are never fast enough. How many times did I hear that doctor yelled out "I NEED PROPOFOL 10 cc FAST!!! WHERE IS THE PROPOFOL?! GIMME THE PROPOFOL!!!" in the 10-15 seconds it took the other doctor to get the Propofol and have it drawn up in syringe? You're trying to bring someone back to life, get that heart beating again, breathe air into the lungs. It's a person's life literally in the hands of the many medical staff who rush into that room, and I don't think you'll ever be fast enough. No matter how experience and collected these people are, it's still a total and utter chaos.
Now, the code didn't do anything to me. It was actually exciting, to be honest. This patient was actually in a much somber situation than my dying patient, but I was fine. I've never had to watch a family member going through a code, having tube inserted down their throat, surrounded by doctors and nurses doing everything to revive them. After 30 minutes--that seemed like hours--the patient was stabilized and transfered to an ICU unit.
And then I knew there is a difference. In some cases, I'll be fine. In some others, I'll just have to deal with that weird feeling. That's just the way it goes now, and perhaps for the rest of my career. All in all, for me, it's still an other wordly experience to witness births and deaths. They make me appreciate and respect life more.
The first one happened last semester, and I wrote about it. At the time, I thought it was just a one time thing. It was my first and of course I was bound to feel...something. I thought it'd go away and but it didn't. Yesterday, I started to realize that one of my patients is dying and the family was finally able to made that difficult decision to let go of treatment and do palliative care instead. Today, everything is more...official, I guess. All PO meds are on hold, and the Morphine Sulfate surfaced in the order. Again, I got that uneasy feeling I did last semester.
I think what did it for me is seeing the Morphine PRN dose on the MAR first thing in the morning, just because that is the staple drug for end of life patients to keep them comfortable. It's become some kind of a sign for me that, yes, the time is near for that person. We were given doses of that, too, from the hospice care for Grampa when he went home from the hospital. I had to give him that, and so did my cousins.
Then my chest got thighter as I walked in the room. The patient is much like my Grampa was before he died. Eyes opened but no one is there. They can't talk and you wonder if they knew who you were, and you wish they remember who you were. They're just lying there, waiting for their time to come, and it's an excruciating wait for the family members.
It's a weird weird thing to experience, I can't say enough how uncanny it is to watch a dying person, especially when you've watched a family member went through it. I wasn't exactly sad or upset, I didn't feel like crying or breaking down. There is just...an uneasiness to it. There is a voice screaming in my head that this is the same thing as Grampa: the Morphine, the inability to talk, the waiting, the what happens when we bring him home, the ever present wondering of when he'd actually die. It keeps screaming I have been here before and I should never be reminded of it again.
But it's life. People die everyday, and unfortunately, you will witness that more times than you'd like. Heck, I'm only a student nurse and it already happened twice. My career awaits many a future experience of taking care and witnessing dying patients. After the first time, I thought I had to find a way to be okay with this, to erase that feeling out of me. But after today, I realized I can never make that feeling go away, and I'm accepting that I will forever be taken back to Grampa when that happens again. I will always take a sharp breath, my chest will always feel thight, and I'll always get this inexplicable feeling when I have a dying patient.
As if one dying patient isn't enough, the universe, of course, just has to mess around with me some more. Another patient on the floor, although wasn't mine, vomitted, had a seizure, and went into a code. (This was also a second code, the first one I saw was also last semester) Oh, the brouhaha of a code, there's nothing like it. It seems like, in a code, no matter how fast you're moving to get things, you are never fast enough. How many times did I hear that doctor yelled out "I NEED PROPOFOL 10 cc FAST!!! WHERE IS THE PROPOFOL?! GIMME THE PROPOFOL!!!" in the 10-15 seconds it took the other doctor to get the Propofol and have it drawn up in syringe? You're trying to bring someone back to life, get that heart beating again, breathe air into the lungs. It's a person's life literally in the hands of the many medical staff who rush into that room, and I don't think you'll ever be fast enough. No matter how experience and collected these people are, it's still a total and utter chaos.
Now, the code didn't do anything to me. It was actually exciting, to be honest. This patient was actually in a much somber situation than my dying patient, but I was fine. I've never had to watch a family member going through a code, having tube inserted down their throat, surrounded by doctors and nurses doing everything to revive them. After 30 minutes--that seemed like hours--the patient was stabilized and transfered to an ICU unit.
And then I knew there is a difference. In some cases, I'll be fine. In some others, I'll just have to deal with that weird feeling. That's just the way it goes now, and perhaps for the rest of my career. All in all, for me, it's still an other wordly experience to witness births and deaths. They make me appreciate and respect life more.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Death.
On our last day of clinical, my instructor called me out in the hallway. She said, “Cee, come over here and stand with me outside this patient’s room.” As I walked apprehensively toward her, she spoke once again, “The door is open and I want you to look inside. Tell me what you see with the patient. Think out loud for me.”
I saw an old lady, grey haired, small in stature, sitting up on the bed, using her left elbow for support. “She’s breathing through her mouth,” I told her.
My instructor nodded, a gleam in her eyes. Knowing I said what she had hoped I noticed, I continued, “You can see clearly her chest is rising up and down.”
“And she’s sitting up on the bed,” my instructor replied.
I looked at the patient again, “Leaning forward.” Right then, a realization struck me and with an alarm look I turned to my instructor, “She’s having trouble breathing. She can’t breathe.”
Instructor smiled and nodded, calmly she pulled me away from the room. “Let’s go see what we can find about her,” she said. Off we went to the nurse’s station to find the patient’s chart and the nurses taking care of her. In the meanwhile, my mind raced with thoughts of why we aren’t helping her and where was the charge nurse.
I didn’t realize I was fidgeting until my instructor spoke again, this time to the charge nurse, “Cee here noticed that your patient in room 10 can’t breathe.” There was that glint again in her eyes when she informed the charge nurse, “We were standing in front of the room, and she saw that the patient has trouble breathing.”
The charge nurse smiled, and my brows furrowed, there wasn’t anything to be smiled about in this situation, so I thought.
“She has a long history of COPD and a primary lung cancer that has metastasized. Her heart is not pumping properly. She’s having fibrillation and flutter,” the charged nurse informed me.
“Oh…,” I uttered, taken aback by the sheer reality of the patient’s condition.
The charge nurse pointed to a group of physicians gathering a few feet away from us, “See that, they’re deciding what to do for her. If we intubate her, she may never wake up. If we don’t, she’s not going to make it past 24-48 hours from now. If her family agrees, we will take comfort measures and let her pass.”
“Wow…,” I whispered sadly.
“But you noticed,” my instructor told me, “You noticed that she’s having problem breathing. Not a lot of nurses will.”
“But it was obvious…,” I disagreed.
My instructor shook her head, “You’d be surprised at how many don’t see it. But you did, and there is a lot you can do even though her condition is terminal. You know she won’t tolerate any activity, you know not to have her do any activity because anything can break her.”
“I guess,” I said, accepting her input.
“You see here?” The charge nurse brought the chart over, “Someone wrote for a PT consult for her, do you think it would be a good idea?”
“No,” I replied. “She can’t tolerate any activity and it may…kill her.”
Both my instructor and charge nurse smiled again, “You got it. You’re right.”
With that, the charge nurse left, my instructor did too, “You did good, I’m proud of you.”
I stood there, trying to figure out what was that for, and to be honest, I was quite resentful to my instructor for doing that to me because I felt like I didn’t need to know of a patient that wasn’t mine was dying and I had the image of that patient’s trying to breathe in my head. I had a lot on my plate from school already, and I’m drained, and I just felt I don’t need to have this reminder that I just saw an old lady who wouldn’t be alive in the next 2 days. I still can’t get the image of that day out of my head, I still think of what happened to her, and how her family is dealing with her death.
I know that one day I will witness my own patient’s death. It is inevitable with the career I’ve chosen, but I’m not ready for that yet, even when it wasn’t directly my patient. I still want to see life in everyone I come across, not impending death. I’ve seen death, I saw a dead 24 weeks fetus, and though I still can’t forget that image, I didn’t know anything about it. I saw it in the hall, heard the story from the nurses who were taking care of it, and that was it. I didn’t see the mother, I didn’t see it delivered, and I had no previous contact.
I guess it’s just still weird for me to see that lady that day and to see her struggling for one more breath, knowing that it was more or less futile and wondering two days later if she was still alive or not. Hopefully, as I go further in this career I’ll find a better way to deal with death and to not let it affect me.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Rainy days and Mondays
I forgot I took this with my phone yesterday, but this is what I saw from school 2 hours before I had to walk to the hospital for the interview. I can clearly see the strong wind blowing the rain from the window, and for a second I considered calling the recruiter to let them know I might be coming in completely drenched in rain water.
Thank God, the rain stopped pouring by the time I had to make the trek to the hospital. It was still raining, but I manage to stay dry from ankles up. Phew! And good thing I wore black pants!
Thank God, the rain stopped pouring by the time I had to make the trek to the hospital. It was still raining, but I manage to stay dry from ankles up. Phew! And good thing I wore black pants!
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Game plan.
Upon meeting the acute CI last week, my group and I thought "Holy intense Batman!" So I prepared the best I could last night for clinical this morning, but I've got news for ya. No matter how much you think you're prepared, first day is still first day, meaning you don't know what to expect and you're clueless. You know zip! Ok, I lied, I knew one thing: we were going to get grilled, I just didn't know to what extend. Well, let it be known that we got grilled very very well done today, some of us were even burnt. I was the first one to be put through the ringer. My God, I've never felt that stupid before.
I've never had someone pushed me to my limits like this before, I've never had someone made me think constantly about how my patient's doing and what I'm doing to them and why I'm doing it to them like this before, I never had to prove myself until this. Goodness gracious, this is something else. Now I know we need to be of top of our game at all time. Cover your ass is fast becoming my group motto.
There is a reason why some hospitals are magnet and some aren't. The hospital we're at is none of the county general hospital. It's huge, it's a magnet hospital, and it's got reputation to live up to. The difference between this and the hospital for my OB clinical, which is not of this caliber, is mindbogglingly obvious. So I get it. I get why my CI is very strict about us truly knowing whatever it is that we're doing--or lack of doing of things we're supposed to, to protect us and to protect the patients. Heck, if CI feels we need to know what patient's BM smells like, you better bet our noses would be near that toilet. (This, of course, is an exaggeration, I really really hope no good smelling sense will be assaulted this semester).
Said CI works us to our worth, it is exhausting and involving all feelings reminiscent of the Spanish inquisition. It's going to be one hell of a clinical, one where we're whipped to greatness. It's a lot of work, it's nervewracking, and dammit I sure am going to bitch my way through this, because it's uncomfortable and unpleasant to be under this kind of supervision. But I'll deal. I'll survive. I'm liking the challenge. I want to learn to be a great nurse. I'd like to see how far I can be pushed and how far I can grow.
And how long it's going to take me to do care plans for this. They are as hellish as the clinical itself.
Damn. There goes my life....
I've never had someone pushed me to my limits like this before, I've never had someone made me think constantly about how my patient's doing and what I'm doing to them and why I'm doing it to them like this before, I never had to prove myself until this. Goodness gracious, this is something else. Now I know we need to be of top of our game at all time. Cover your ass is fast becoming my group motto.
There is a reason why some hospitals are magnet and some aren't. The hospital we're at is none of the county general hospital. It's huge, it's a magnet hospital, and it's got reputation to live up to. The difference between this and the hospital for my OB clinical, which is not of this caliber, is mindbogglingly obvious. So I get it. I get why my CI is very strict about us truly knowing whatever it is that we're doing--or lack of doing of things we're supposed to, to protect us and to protect the patients. Heck, if CI feels we need to know what patient's BM smells like, you better bet our noses would be near that toilet. (This, of course, is an exaggeration, I really really hope no good smelling sense will be assaulted this semester).
Said CI works us to our worth, it is exhausting and involving all feelings reminiscent of the Spanish inquisition. It's going to be one hell of a clinical, one where we're whipped to greatness. It's a lot of work, it's nervewracking, and dammit I sure am going to bitch my way through this, because it's uncomfortable and unpleasant to be under this kind of supervision. But I'll deal. I'll survive. I'm liking the challenge. I want to learn to be a great nurse. I'd like to see how far I can be pushed and how far I can grow.
And how long it's going to take me to do care plans for this. They are as hellish as the clinical itself.
Damn. There goes my life....
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Good day.
I went back to my floor only to be taken to my group mate's patient's room right away; group mate had gone home sick. I was very unprepared, only knew the patient's surgical procedure and how many days post-op when CI introduced me to said patient and charge nurse. To make me even more anxious, the charge nurse was a strict and tough one, which I actually would like to have if I knew more about my patient and was prepared. The only thing I had on me was my ID badge and nothing else, not even my stethoscope, as we were told we'd leave everything in an unlocked and therefore unsafe locker in the OR lounge. Fortunately, I managed to compose myself soon enough to follow and comprehend the charge nurse's 180 mph instructions and to inform the doctor my patient's meds info when he asked.
Relieved was an understatement of how I was when the shift was over. CI later gave me a pat in the back and told me I did great considering I stepped in at the last minute, so that was a very nice bonus. Another cherry on top is that I got an 88 on my Assessment test, which brought up my average from a low C to a B. Yay! Normally, I wouldn't too happy with an 88, but nursing school isn't normal and I've bid my all A's goodbye, so I welcome 88 with open arms. My study buddies did well too, and that is always nice because then we know we're doing something right. Looks like I've finally found my soul study partners. Hee!
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
My first
First clinical and patient, ah the nervous train wreck that be.....
Note for my CI:
When introducing me as a first year student to my patient, would you please not add the "This is her first and you are her very first and she's very green" part? You know, the part that made the patient laughed nervously while looking at me with questioning eyes? Yeah, the part that reduced me into a nervous mess.
Okthanksbye,
Cee.
Anyway,
Upon picking up said patient the day before and discussing our assignments with fellow group mates, I immediately knew I was in for a rude awakening the next morning. Boy, was I right.
Pt. had been admitted for radical surgical procedures several days earlier and had a complication secondary to said procedures that requires another surgery to fix it the day after my clinical. While fellow group mates got a chance to shadow their primary nurse after their patient care was done, I did not because my patient required frequent check up and care due to the complication. Needless to say, my patient really worked me for those 5 hours.
Here's one thing I wondered about that day. One of my fellow group mates voiced a disagreement over my decision to help a tech with a patient next door to mine. My patient was resting and as I went out of the room to find my primary nurse--thinking that "Hey, let's watch some cool thing!", a tech who had helped me earlier approached and asked for help with a patient next door. I obliged, thinking that "Hey, making an occupied bed! In a real hospital! Not in lab!". Then, as I was finishing up, the tech had helped the patient into the shower and while doing so, the tech got called out and as you can guess, asked me to help the patient with the shower. In which, as you can guess, I obliged, thinking "Hey, assisting pt. with ADL's!".
My judgment is that, as a first semester nursing student, I need to get as much experience as I can. We all know we're doing the tech's job descriptions such as vital signs, bed bath, making beds, hygiene, etc. on top of giving oral medications and injections. Hence when the tech asked for help, I agreed to do so, especially when it didn't interfere with my own patient's care. I had told my pt.'s family member that I was next door and she could find me there should my patient needs anything.
However, this fellow group mate thought that I shouldn't have helped the tech because the patient next door wasn't my assigned patient and I shouldn't do it again next time. On top of that, I was disappointed to hear her say that if I keep helping the techs than the techs won't do their job and will impose it on me. Am I naive to think that she made a ridiculous stereotype and judgment? I know for myself that I'm not too nice to let the techs ride me over with their requests that I'd neglect my patient or miss a chance to watch/do other skills, but this was one time and dang it, fellow group mate, what is your problem?!
Was I right in my decision to help the tech? Or was I supposed to find my primary nurse instead to see if she was doing those skills that this fellow group mate appeared to deem higher than making bed and assisting pt. with his ADL's?
Note for my CI:
When introducing me as a first year student to my patient, would you please not add the "This is her first and you are her very first and she's very green" part? You know, the part that made the patient laughed nervously while looking at me with questioning eyes? Yeah, the part that reduced me into a nervous mess.
Okthanksbye,
Cee.
Anyway,
Upon picking up said patient the day before and discussing our assignments with fellow group mates, I immediately knew I was in for a rude awakening the next morning. Boy, was I right.
Pt. had been admitted for radical surgical procedures several days earlier and had a complication secondary to said procedures that requires another surgery to fix it the day after my clinical. While fellow group mates got a chance to shadow their primary nurse after their patient care was done, I did not because my patient required frequent check up and care due to the complication. Needless to say, my patient really worked me for those 5 hours.
Here's one thing I wondered about that day. One of my fellow group mates voiced a disagreement over my decision to help a tech with a patient next door to mine. My patient was resting and as I went out of the room to find my primary nurse--thinking that "Hey, let's watch some cool thing!", a tech who had helped me earlier approached and asked for help with a patient next door. I obliged, thinking that "Hey, making an occupied bed! In a real hospital! Not in lab!". Then, as I was finishing up, the tech had helped the patient into the shower and while doing so, the tech got called out and as you can guess, asked me to help the patient with the shower. In which, as you can guess, I obliged, thinking "Hey, assisting pt. with ADL's!".
My judgment is that, as a first semester nursing student, I need to get as much experience as I can. We all know we're doing the tech's job descriptions such as vital signs, bed bath, making beds, hygiene, etc. on top of giving oral medications and injections. Hence when the tech asked for help, I agreed to do so, especially when it didn't interfere with my own patient's care. I had told my pt.'s family member that I was next door and she could find me there should my patient needs anything.
However, this fellow group mate thought that I shouldn't have helped the tech because the patient next door wasn't my assigned patient and I shouldn't do it again next time. On top of that, I was disappointed to hear her say that if I keep helping the techs than the techs won't do their job and will impose it on me. Am I naive to think that she made a ridiculous stereotype and judgment? I know for myself that I'm not too nice to let the techs ride me over with their requests that I'd neglect my patient or miss a chance to watch/do other skills, but this was one time and dang it, fellow group mate, what is your problem?!
Was I right in my decision to help the tech? Or was I supposed to find my primary nurse instead to see if she was doing those skills that this fellow group mate appeared to deem higher than making bed and assisting pt. with his ADL's?
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Perhaps something deep this time....
“I’m a generally healthy person, which is why when the doctor told me I had a cancer I immediately told him it couldn’t be true. None of my family and friends that I know of have cancer, why me?”
I have yet to shake the face and the words of that patient out of my mind. I’ve seen these tall hospital buildings every single day for the past six weeks; in my head I know of what is inside. I knew of a wonderful woman who died of cancer and I’ve seen her in the condition she was in shortly before she passed. It should feel "normal"--however that feels--when I stepped inside Designated hospital for the first time last Tuesday, yet I found it overwhelming to see rooms with a post-op hysterectomy patient or end stage kidney disease patient who has 20 medications. Then I remember about the children’s hospital next door where little persons suffer too and it doesn’t get any more real than this.
Three months ago I watched a glimpse of a surgery on Discovery Health Channel—and Grey’s Anatomy, but soon enough I’ll be in the Operating Room witnessing a surgical procedure in person. Holly coolness Batman! That was my first reaction, but then I started worrying about fainting during a surgery, thus making a doofus out of myself. Then I thought about how my patients for the next 7 weeks aren’t people with a regular fever or a stomach ache or a broken leg, I’m not going to be in a doctor’s office taking vital signs and asking health history questions.
My patients for the next 7 weeks are people who recently have a part of their organ—or a whole organ—surgically removed due to aggressive and/or terminal diseases, and on top of taking vital signs, I may be putting in a Foley catheter or NG tube, hang an IV solutions, help them change positions on their beds, administer—and knowing—their medications and injections, recording their intake and output, and whatever it is that a first year nursing students are allowed to do—which is not a lot, but hey, you gotta start somewhere, right?
This is it, the grave diseases and disorders I’ve only known from books and TV’s are right in front of my eyes. I can see and hear them in the patients and their charts. I may be a student nurse, but the word ‘nurse’ is there nonetheless and I pray that I’ll be a great one at that. I pray that I’m sensitive to their needs, that I’m thorough and careful in my assessment, that I know how to conduct myself, that I’m pro-active, that I think fast and critically, that I am not afraid. Most importantly, I pray that I remember they’re still a person and treat them likewise.
As my friend, A, said with painful enthusiasm, “We’re gonna be damn good nurses!”
Amen, sistah, amen!
Ok, back to studying and stop using writing as an excuse for procrastinating.
Dang, that’s to many –ing’s right there…..
OK.
must.stop.writing.now.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Tuesday, I don't like you.
Tuesday in the life of Cee.
4 am
Wake up. Get ready and put scrubs on, only to take the pants off again because I put them on backwards. This is normal when you get dressed half asleep.
5 am
Bus leaves from the park and ride.
6: 10 am
Bus gets to the transit center near school. Put bag in school's locker, almost forgetting the stethoscope. This is also normal when you're half asleep.
6: 35 am
Meet with group mates and instructor at the school lobby. Walk to Designated hospital together.
6:45 am
Breakfast at McDonalds, which is located inside the cafeteria of Designated hospital and the children hospital. Yes, McDonalds inside a hospital--children's hospital nonetheless, go figure....
7 am-10 am
Group is introduced to the floors on which we will have our clinical for the next 7 weeks.
10 am
A hint of back and foot aches due to hours of constant walking and standing up. We repeat "we'll get used to this" like a mantra. We also understand the existence ugly looking shoes on the nurses and techs. "Maybe," we think, "Those ugly shoes are comfortable after all...". Thus begins the battle of holding on to your I'm-never-ever-wearing-those-ugly-shoes principle versus giving into them ugly shoes for the sake of your feet and back.
10:05 am
Group goes into a patient's room and watch instructor does an assessment on the patient.
11 am
Instructor sends us to our respective floors to gather information from a patient's chart and the Designated hospital's computer system, and eventually meet said patient and do a short assessment.
12 pm
Clinical orientation ends, "real" clinical starts next week.
12:30 pm
Meet back at school with lunch for a post-clinical conference.
2 pm
A bunch of us nap in an empty classroom while the other bunch study a few feet away. I question my decision to nap instead of studying for a second and decided that nap takes precedence to studying.
3 pm
Wake up from a hell of a fabulous power nap. Feel sorry for the aforementioned studious friends, they should have napped and ditch the books.
4 pm
Pharmacology lecture starts. Those who have clinical earlier in the day mutter curses.
7 pm
Pharmacology lecture ends. Those who have clinical earlier in the day appear zombie-like.
8 pm
Step foot in my room for the first time since morning, 16 hours earlier.
9 pm
Crash.
4 am
Wake up. Get ready and put scrubs on, only to take the pants off again because I put them on backwards. This is normal when you get dressed half asleep.
5 am
Bus leaves from the park and ride.
6: 10 am
Bus gets to the transit center near school. Put bag in school's locker, almost forgetting the stethoscope. This is also normal when you're half asleep.
6: 35 am
Meet with group mates and instructor at the school lobby. Walk to Designated hospital together.
6:45 am
Breakfast at McDonalds, which is located inside the cafeteria of Designated hospital and the children hospital. Yes, McDonalds inside a hospital--children's hospital nonetheless, go figure....
7 am-10 am
Group is introduced to the floors on which we will have our clinical for the next 7 weeks.
10 am
A hint of back and foot aches due to hours of constant walking and standing up. We repeat "we'll get used to this" like a mantra. We also understand the existence ugly looking shoes on the nurses and techs. "Maybe," we think, "Those ugly shoes are comfortable after all...". Thus begins the battle of holding on to your I'm-never-ever-wearing-those-ugly-shoes principle versus giving into them ugly shoes for the sake of your feet and back.
10:05 am
Group goes into a patient's room and watch instructor does an assessment on the patient.
11 am
Instructor sends us to our respective floors to gather information from a patient's chart and the Designated hospital's computer system, and eventually meet said patient and do a short assessment.
12 pm
Clinical orientation ends, "real" clinical starts next week.
12:30 pm
Meet back at school with lunch for a post-clinical conference.
2 pm
A bunch of us nap in an empty classroom while the other bunch study a few feet away. I question my decision to nap instead of studying for a second and decided that nap takes precedence to studying.
3 pm
Wake up from a hell of a fabulous power nap. Feel sorry for the aforementioned studious friends, they should have napped and ditch the books.
4 pm
Pharmacology lecture starts. Those who have clinical earlier in the day mutter curses.
7 pm
Pharmacology lecture ends. Those who have clinical earlier in the day appear zombie-like.
8 pm
Step foot in my room for the first time since morning, 16 hours earlier.
9 pm
Crash.
Monday, September 24, 2007
A little nerdy and a little stupid
That is how I feel when one week I made an A on a test for class P and the next week I made a C on a test for class A, though both are testament to how much studying was done for each test. Both were first tests, and I hatehate the first exam because you don't know what to expect. Obviously I was well prepared for the P test, then a lazy spell hit just in time for the A test. Darn.
This is week is the last clinical lab with the talking mannequins--yes, them high tech dummies do talk and it's creepy. Next week I'll start clinical at the assigned hospital, donning my scrubs and meeting real patients with the hope that they don't reject me, a clueless first year nursing student, for testing my newly acquired skills on them.
Cee: "Mr. P, I'm going to give your med through IM injection."
Mr. P: "But you're a student nurse...."
Cee (trying her best to muffle the deflating sound of her self esteem) : "Yes, I am."
Mr. P: "Do you know what you're doing? You don't know what you're doing!"
Cee (thinking this is quite true) : "I have practiced many times, Mr. P. No need to worry."
Mr. P: "You have?"
Cee (omitting the part that says all practices were done only to the creepy talking mannequins at the school's lab) : "Of course."
Update on the study partner thing:
I am glad to say that I have found study partners that I feel comfortable with, though there is a catch to this: there were only the four of us when we studied for the P test mentioned above and all of us made A's. However, for the A test the week after, three more people joined us when they saw us in the study room and invited themselves in. As you can see, this contributed to the C as well because I can't quite focus with six other people in the room compared to when there were only three other people. I haven't found out how the rest of the group did as we got the grades for the A test only recently, I do know one of them got less than what she got on the P test, though still higher than the C I got.
Perhaps finding the right people isn't enough to form this ultimate study group, thou must find the right people and the right number of people. Le sigh, my quest resumes.....
This is week is the last clinical lab with the talking mannequins--yes, them high tech dummies do talk and it's creepy. Next week I'll start clinical at the assigned hospital, donning my scrubs and meeting real patients with the hope that they don't reject me, a clueless first year nursing student, for testing my newly acquired skills on them.
Cee: "Mr. P, I'm going to give your med through IM injection."
Mr. P: "But you're a student nurse...."
Cee (trying her best to muffle the deflating sound of her self esteem) : "Yes, I am."
Mr. P: "Do you know what you're doing? You don't know what you're doing!"
Cee (thinking this is quite true) : "I have practiced many times, Mr. P. No need to worry."
Mr. P: "You have?"
Cee (omitting the part that says all practices were done only to the creepy talking mannequins at the school's lab) : "Of course."
Update on the study partner thing:
I am glad to say that I have found study partners that I feel comfortable with, though there is a catch to this: there were only the four of us when we studied for the P test mentioned above and all of us made A's. However, for the A test the week after, three more people joined us when they saw us in the study room and invited themselves in. As you can see, this contributed to the C as well because I can't quite focus with six other people in the room compared to when there were only three other people. I haven't found out how the rest of the group did as we got the grades for the A test only recently, I do know one of them got less than what she got on the P test, though still higher than the C I got.
Perhaps finding the right people isn't enough to form this ultimate study group, thou must find the right people and the right number of people. Le sigh, my quest resumes.....
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