Posterous theme by Cory Watilo

Filed under: Nursing

Would you like cream with your powder?

Let me just say this right up front:

We love our hospice nurses. No scrap that. We love nurses. Period.

They are some of the kindest and most caring people on this planet. When everyone else is standing around getting grossed out by some perfectly natural problem (pick from the big four: pee, poop, puke or blood), nurses jump in and take care of it without hesitation or complaint.

But they are still human beings and if they've been nursing for any decent amount of time, they've almost certainly developed a treatment preference or two about which they feel rather strongly.

One such preference we've noticed is that hospice RNs seem to fall evenly into two groups: those who are pro-powder and those who are pro-cream. We've yet to meet one that likes both equally. Since hospice protocols are more flexible than in other clinical settings, nurses have more freedom to implement their personal preferences in some situations -- like the skin problems which plague pretty much all hospice patients.

And probably due to nothing more than random coincidence, we occasionally seem to be assigned our nurse from the opposing camp of whichever nurse visited the prior day. So, if we're cream positive on Monday, you can bet we'll be powdering it up on Tuesday.

 

Powder Nurse: Oh dear, who put this cream on her?

Me: The RN who visited yesterday.

Powder Nurse: Well, it needs air and we can't see the skin. Let's get all this cream off.

Me: <sigh>Okay.

Powder Nurse: Then we'll put some powder on it to keep it dry.

Me: I thought you might say that.

 

The next day, we might follow with this:

 

Cream Nurse: Oh dear, there is powder everywhere. Did you put this on?

Me: Nope. That would be yesterday's nurse.

Cream Nurse: Well, I think the powder gets in all the cracks of the skin and gets wet and clumpy. Let's get it all off and get everything clean.

Me: <sigh>Okay.

Cream Nurse: Now that it's all clean, we need to protect the skin so we'll put some cream on.

<long pause>

Me: It's funny how the hospice nurses seem to go back and forth on this issue of cream and powder.

Cream Nurse: Really?! I never noticed. That is funny. I guess there are some who still like the powder, but it seems kind of old-school to me.

Me: Yeah, that's what they said about the creamers too.

 

In the end, each camp shares the common desire to start with a clean slate and then apply what their experience has taught them is most likely to produce the best outcome. Their only real problem is a smart-aleck family member who likes to make unnecessary and unhelpful remarks and then write about it in his blog.

 

Update 1: Our nurse today asked what I call the pro-powder nurses if the pro-cream nurses are called creamers. Let's go with Powderinas.

Update 2: Someone made a good point. A male nurse would be a powderino.

Family diagnosis

After giving us long and detailed medical instructions:

Nurse: Carolyn, you have a great support team

Mom: <eyes closed, nods slightly>

Nurse: It's nice to see a family that is so clinically....

<really long pause>

Me: Insane?

Nurse: <laughing>Aware!

Me: Sorry, you seemed stuck.

Nurse: Oh Carolyn, does the sense of humor come from you?

Mom: <eyes still closed, manages a tiny smile and a nod>

Hospice faux pas

Mom is sleeping. We are whispering.

Nurse: The pain patch must be applied above fatty tissue to work.

Me: What are some good places?

Nurse: The abdomen can be a good spot.

Me: So if there's no fatty tissue, the patch doesn't work?

Nurse: Exactly.

Me: I think we'll be ok with this.

Mom: <eyes still closed> I heard that.

Me: Oops, sorry mom. I wasn't saying you were fat.

Mom: Oh sure.

 

Morning tea conversation

Mom: I think I converted to Catholicism last night

Me: Really?

Mom: My substitute night nurse helped me pray to several nuns

Me: You mean saints?

Mom: Whatever.

Me: How did you feel about it?

Mom: Kinda weird, but my nurse was really happy.

Me: Sounds like your bases are covered.

Mom: Yeah, I think so.

Me: Want another piece of Almond Roca?

Mom: Please

Unfazed by shaking hospital, she walks!

We've heard several different estimates (5.7, 6.0, 5.9), but whatever it was, we got a nice bumpy ride on the 3rd floor. After 12 long days here, it's going to take more than a rocking hospital to get a rise out of my very sick mother. She just looked at me and slightly cocked her head with a "what else?" kind of a stare. An earthquake....perfect.

Update: It was 5.4.

Photo

Sent from my iPhone

Steph practices IV removal on her grandma

As with many of our nurses, we got off to a somewhat bumpy start with Nurse X.

We've learned over the year that the biggest two words in a hospital are "shift" and "change". That first hour on the new shift can be rough on everybody while some poor soul tries to get up to speed quickly and accurately on a whole bunch of very sick and needy patients and all the important events of the previous twelve hours. It's a little like trying to jump in and drive a new car for the first time while it's moving.

Sometimes, you think, "wow, this nurse is the worst ever" and then a few hours later, the seas calm, kindnesses are shared and presto...everyone bonds!

Anyway, on this shift, a nurse we were really struggling to appreciate heard that Steph was pursuing nursing school and immediately offered to let her practice removing an IV from her grandma's arm. Of course, Steph was ecstatic. Her grandmother was bemused by the ensuing scene (she's just too weak to get riled by much these days). Mom and Dad (us) were a little nervous, but thrilled she could gain her first IV experience in a such a memorable and meaningful way.

She did just fine. 

And of course, we love Nurse X.

Photo

Sent from my iPhone