Recently in the hospital:
An older lady is admitted into the ICU. She is very sick, and the prognosis is grim. She is on life support and clinging to life. The following is the conversation with her sixty-ish son. His Mother apparently had an obsession that has been passed along as a genetic trait.
Son: “What happens if my Mom has to…uh…you know…needs to… go to the bathroom?”
I knew what he was referring to, but there is no fun in a direct answer.
Me: “Oh, it won’t be a problem. She has a tube going into her bladder. All of her urine will drain out into this bag.”
Son: “That’s good, but I am more concerned about her…going…the other…way.”
Me: “Do you mean what if she has a bowel movement?”
Son: “Yes, she goes at least three times a day, and if she doesn’t she gets very, very anxious.”
Me: “A lot of older people have a preoccupation with staying regular. Does she take anything at home to help her go?”
Son: “Yes, she takes two stool softeners twice a day, a glass of Metamucil every morning, a couple of ex-lax around lunch, and if she doesn’t have a third by bed time, she will give herself an enema.”
Me: “Goodness, she is a busy lady. Does she have any other hobbies?”
Son: “She had an obstruction about ten years ago, and has been pretty strict on three times a day since.”
Me: “At the moment it is not going to be our focus, but I will keep an eye on it.”
Son: “She would want me to make sure she still went three times a day.”
Me: “She is not eating right now, so she might not have to go so often.”
Son: “She doesn’t eat much anyway, but she still goes three times a day.”
Me: “She MAKES herself go three times a day.”
Son: “Can you make her go three times a day?”
Me: “We could make her go non-stop, but it won’t be necessary.”
Son: “I would really appreciate it if she could go three times a day.”
Me: “I’ll see what I can do.”
Son: “When she goes, do you just pick her up and put her on the toilet?”
Me: “At the current time you Mother can not really tell me when she has to go. She will probably be incontinent and then we will clean her up.”
Son: “You mean she will just go in the bed?”
Me: “Probably.”
Son: “I don’t think she will want to do that.”
Me: “Unfortunately, you Mother is not in a condition to notice that right now. I am going to be focused on getting her better so she can get up to the toilet on her own again.”
Son: “She might seem like she is not really paying attention, but I bet she is still thinking about having her next bowel movement.”
Me: “We will keep her comfortable and do everything in our power to help her get better.”
Son: “If she has…uh…a bowel move…in the bed…who cleans it up?”
Me: “I do.”
Son: “Isn’t that disgusting?”
Me: “You get used to it.”
Son: “I can’t imagine.”
Me: “It’s a job.”
Son: “It seems like it would be cleaner just to pick her up and put her on the toilet.”
Me: “It seems that way, but it wouldn’t be.”
Son: “Okay, just think about it, and see what you can do to keep her going three times a day.”
Me: “I will do my best.”
He called me the next morning around four A.M., and the first thing he asked was not, “How is she doing?” Or “Is she awake yet?” But instead, “Did she have a…um…bowel movement?”
Great disappointment was noticed when I said no.
I could not stop wondering if the son was calling me from his own toilet. Like Mother like Son.
Showing posts with label poop. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poop. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Disgusting Poop Post
Killer ruins the dreams of those around them: A post about flowers.
There are some really bad infections people can get. Some people get an infection and then wind up in the hospital, but most often people come into the hospital and wind up with an infection. Why does that happen? Well, because the people with infections are here, and that means their germs are here. One thing leads to another, and the next thing you know, Grandma has the clap.
Okay, so Grandma can’t catch the clap just from failure to wash hands, her catching the clap would be a different post, and I am hesitant to go into that. Instead we will talk about a more unpleasant infection, one that resides in the bowels and results in the most heinous poop ever.
C-diff is a bowel infection that causes frequent liquid/mucous stool that is characterized by a “distinct barn-yard smell”. If you are in the nursing profession and are unfortunate enough to run across a patient with this affliction, you can pretty much guarantee you will hate the whole of your shift. Lots of horrific poop to clean and no one wants to help you do it. Often one has to burn every past favor and make future promises to get some assistance.
Recently I was the lucky winner in the C-diff patient lottery. My fella was a poop, poop, poopin’ machine. I managed to trick a couple of fellow nurses into coming into the room by telling them a re-run of American Idol was on the TV. Once inside, it is a common rule that you have to stay and help.
They were struggling to hold the rather large patient while I was cleaning the offensive area. I tried to convince them to clean while I held, but they were not willing to be team players. One of the girls made the comment, “I wish poop smelled like roses.” The other girl whole heartedly agreed, and added, “I bet more people would be nurses if poop smelled like roses.”
I disagreed with this assessment and felt it my duty to destroy their rose scented dream world. I informed them that if poop smelled like roses you would have one of two scenarios.
Scenario one: Everyone enjoys the smell of shit too much. Everyone will stop flushing their toilets at home. Why buy potpourri when all you have do is feed your husband chili and leave the bathroom door open. Visitors will come by the house and say things like, “Mmmmm that is a lovely scent in here. Can your husband come take a dump at my house? We are having a party tonight.”
Scenario two: Everyone is disgusted by the smell of roses. What kind of message would it send when, for Valentines Day, you send your special lady a dozen plants that smell like something that came out of a fat guy’s ass? Would you really plant a bush in your back yard that smells like shit?
They were not happy about my raining on their parade. The rest of the clean up was pretty much in silence. They were also awfully pissed about the American Idol ruse. I guess if I get that guy back tonight I will have to think of a new ploy. Maybe a trail of M&M’s leading into my disgustingly stinky room.
There are some really bad infections people can get. Some people get an infection and then wind up in the hospital, but most often people come into the hospital and wind up with an infection. Why does that happen? Well, because the people with infections are here, and that means their germs are here. One thing leads to another, and the next thing you know, Grandma has the clap.
Okay, so Grandma can’t catch the clap just from failure to wash hands, her catching the clap would be a different post, and I am hesitant to go into that. Instead we will talk about a more unpleasant infection, one that resides in the bowels and results in the most heinous poop ever.
C-diff is a bowel infection that causes frequent liquid/mucous stool that is characterized by a “distinct barn-yard smell”. If you are in the nursing profession and are unfortunate enough to run across a patient with this affliction, you can pretty much guarantee you will hate the whole of your shift. Lots of horrific poop to clean and no one wants to help you do it. Often one has to burn every past favor and make future promises to get some assistance.
Recently I was the lucky winner in the C-diff patient lottery. My fella was a poop, poop, poopin’ machine. I managed to trick a couple of fellow nurses into coming into the room by telling them a re-run of American Idol was on the TV. Once inside, it is a common rule that you have to stay and help.
They were struggling to hold the rather large patient while I was cleaning the offensive area. I tried to convince them to clean while I held, but they were not willing to be team players. One of the girls made the comment, “I wish poop smelled like roses.” The other girl whole heartedly agreed, and added, “I bet more people would be nurses if poop smelled like roses.”
I disagreed with this assessment and felt it my duty to destroy their rose scented dream world. I informed them that if poop smelled like roses you would have one of two scenarios.
Scenario one: Everyone enjoys the smell of shit too much. Everyone will stop flushing their toilets at home. Why buy potpourri when all you have do is feed your husband chili and leave the bathroom door open. Visitors will come by the house and say things like, “Mmmmm that is a lovely scent in here. Can your husband come take a dump at my house? We are having a party tonight.”
Scenario two: Everyone is disgusted by the smell of roses. What kind of message would it send when, for Valentines Day, you send your special lady a dozen plants that smell like something that came out of a fat guy’s ass? Would you really plant a bush in your back yard that smells like shit?
They were not happy about my raining on their parade. The rest of the clean up was pretty much in silence. They were also awfully pissed about the American Idol ruse. I guess if I get that guy back tonight I will have to think of a new ploy. Maybe a trail of M&M’s leading into my disgustingly stinky room.
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