How many times over how many days does a board certified Endocrinologist have to write nursing orders so that the patient does NOT receive juice when his blood sugars drop below 70 because they want him to have MILK? No Juice, give milk.
Don't ponder it too long, or as Lewis Black would say, "blood will spurt out of your nose."
I know this because I was fighting a nosebleed as I drove home from the hospital this evening.
In the handful of visits I've had with Rich, every time his blood sugar has dropped and in comes nursing staff (NOT an LPN) with juice, and we have to point out that he is not supposed to have juice. He finally admitted to me that it has happened repeatedly when I'm not there. Okay, it happens every gawd-damned time. Really? Really. What the fuck would happen if he weren't capable of directing his care?! Personally I'm a bit weary of hearing the doctor reinforce this directive to ME when staff can't grasp the concept. No, really, I get it, doc, why don't you have this chat with staff?
No, I take that back--why don't you have this chat with the freakin' bean counters who determined patient care would not suffer by firing 72 LPNs, with the goal of replacing them with 20 new graduate RNs. Ma head done damn wanna explode!!!!!
Because seriously, there is no better nursing staff on the planet than AGMC nurses. At the same time, the laws of physics dictate that the best of the best still has only two hands and a finite amount of time and at this point is not capable of being in more than one place at one time.
Is anyone listening?!?!?! Basic logic, people. You can't spread one tablespoon of peanut butter across a three foot slice of bread. Duh.
All that aside.
I made a huge batch of Pupshn special Mix. Walnuts, roasted soybeans, almonds, pumpkin seeds, dried papaya, pineapple, cranberries, raisins, blueberries and cherries. I don't even want to tell you how expensive THAT snack is. I toted four pints of it to him, nicely packaged for his snacking convenience. He munched on that for a solid three hours before they checked his blood sugar and it was 61. That and two clementine oranges. Seriously, as much as I want him home, I'm scared to death that I can't stay on top of this. I've had three newborns that were less maintenance. And I was in my early twenties, not working full time outside the home. From experience I can say that if I could breastfeed my way through this I might stand a chance; as it is, I'm screwed.
It's been a long four days of people enjoying their four day weekend, rightfully so. Maybe tomorrow our doctors will hear back from the doctors they're in contact with. Maybe in a day or two or three we'll be closer to a plan that will make this livable.
He's trying so hard to be positive. He's struggling with the fear and frustration and the gob-stopping awful sleep deprivation. How would you like to be awakened every two hours for a needle in your mangled finger; and get up at three AM to eat a full meal? And why can't they test his sugar on his arm like commercial units can do? At every two hours for 8 days, his fingertips are starting to look like raw meat.
I'm running out of positive, reinforcement shit to say that doesn't insult what's left of our collective common sense.
I trimmed his big ole Captain Kangaroo mustache and it seemed to genuinely lift his spirits.
Wow. That's what I'm able to bring to the table. A mustache trim, a back rub, lotion massaged into his feet, Pupshn Mix and "wow, it sucks to be YOU!"
I'm sort of looking forward to tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment