And on a lighter note.... (yet *another* work war story so pitiful it's funny)
The story is that he drove himself up the ER ramp, staggered out of the car, fell over
Then announced that his life was crap and he wanted to get sober.
His serum ethanol level was something that only a highly trained liver can keep you out of a coma with.
Based on his admission that he drinks "two beers and a pint of vodka"
( We almost invariably multiply by two or three about what we're told... almost everyone minimizes their vices)
It had been an ongoing battle for most of the preceeding shift.
He was in the grip of some pretty ferocious DTs
Awake... he was all about leaving and as the night drew on... he got pretty insistent.
He's a big guy in his early fifties.
I was watching him while his nurse went for a soda.
I saw the feet slide over the side of the bed seeking the floor.
His wrists are tied down and he's got a roll belt on so he's not going anywhere.
Bobby* (not his real name), where are you going?
I gotta go.
No, you don't gotta go. You gotta stay.
Why?
Cause you signed up for this camp and now you're so sick that we can't release you. You're drying out and you've got a bad case of the shakes with your DTs. Put your feet back in your bed, now please.
The feet slide back in the bed.
5 minutes later ...
He looks me in the eye with this smarmy grin on his face and eases one foot off of the bed.
I give him my best imitaion of *the look* that I used to get from my mother.
The foot goes back up on the bed.
His nurse comes back. Thank goodness.
I make it a point to thank the charge nurse for not assigning him to me.
(This is the one that I bitched out about two months ago for giving them *all* to me. I believe in positive reinforcement."
"Hey!!!" I hear my next door neighbor nurse yell.
I hit the door seconds later as he's cocking his foot to kick at her again, up on his elbows in the bed, taking better aim.
He didn't see me come in he was so intent.
Grab under the raised foot and push up. Leg goes up, torso goes down.
thump.
I still have his ankle in my hand and my hand on his chest.
He struggles to sit up and kick me.
Easy buddy, you don't want to do that.
Let me go.
No. We're gonna pull you up in the bed and then I'll leave you alone as soon as you stop kicking at your nurse.
If you don't stop kicking at your nurse, we will tie your feet down too.
Leave me alone!
Happily. Behave yourself and you buy yourself some peace.
He struggles, I push down harder and lift the leg higher. I have the advantage of height and weight and not afraid to use it.
Give it up, buddy, you're not going anywhere.
I steal a line from the Borg
Resistance is futile...
He, however will soooooooooooo not be assimilated.
You have kids?
No.
Oh thank goodness... he's not in the gene pool.
We get him pulled up in bed and tie his feet for good measure.
He's got one of those cocky male superior grins that I just hate.
The one where they manage to touch your breast and you both know it was intentional and yet the circumstances give him a way out ,but he's just got to rub it in because he knows he's going to get away with it.
What's the grin about, Bobby
Nothin'
Yeah... nothin'... I know that look. I bet chicks hate that look.
The grin gets wider. yeah..
You know, Bobby, you look like a smart man.
If I were tied to a bed with an old battle axe nurse like me around, I don't think I'd annoy her with that high wattage superior good ole boy grin.
the smile flickered... then faded.
An hour or so later..
Oh my God, exclaims the nurse taking care of him heading for the room at a dead run.
I follow.
He's broken three out of four restraints. pulled the webbing right off of the soft cotton cuffs.
He's got one restraint still on and the roll belt is cutting him in the middle.
He is also standing at the foot of the bed.. on a slick floor, in TEDs.
If he falls he is gonna dislocate his shoulder and maybe break some ribs.
His nurse gets in front of him to block him moving forward... he shoves her away one handed.
Somehow I get one knee on the bed and sort of clothesline him from the behind and manage to sit him back on the bed.
He tries to stand up again.
This is the point where I know that I could personally lift all 220 lbs of him and sit his happy ass back up in the bed if I had the leverage and if he hadn't left a slug like trail of diarrhea all the way to the edge of the bed. Gross.
My hand goes around his shoulder like a vise and suddenly his torso is on the bed in a pretty controlled fall.
He grabs my wrist with his free hand and I swap hands, holding him down with my left hand and swapping grip on my right to pin his arm to the bed.
He is mine.
Where ya goin' Bobby?
I gotta go to the grocery store.
Whatcha gonna go get at the store?
(evasive look) Just stuff.
You heading over there for alcohol?
Yeah.
What's your drink, Bobby. (we're waiting for lifting help to get there and get their gloves on so distraction works)
Vodka.
What brand?
Oh... any brand... Taaka mostly.
So you're heading to the store for vodka?
Yeah... and groceries.
Whatcha gonna cook, Bobby?
(sly grin) I'm gonna make me a Taaka sandwich, then I'm gonna make me a Takka shake.
And get some Taaka ice cream for desert?
(bigger conspiritorial grin) yeah.
Bobby, you are so full of it....
There are some moments in nursing that you will shred the inside of your cheek with your teeth rather than laugh.
Sometimes that doesn't even work. Like then.
The adrenaline dissipates in the laughter.
Thank goodness.
As it turns out I was more of a prophet than I knew regarding the shit part at least.
I heard later (because I got involved with my other patient's death) that he did eventually give birth to a turd the size of a 4 month old St. Bernard puppy.
I'm kinda glad I missed that part.
Damn glad.