Spiteful

Here is Edgar Allen, "Eddie" or "Kitty!," giving me one of his many spiteful looks. I think he gets it from me....

Exceptionally Evil = Wicked

There are some days and nights where you have the best intentions, but fate or circumstances (call it what you will) thwart your every effort.

In trying to control my patient's pain, I advocated that his/her pain med be increased. The med was increased, but in doing so, I created utter frustration for myself when the time came to adjust my patient's PCA pump. After an hour of not being able to change the program for the pump and having phoned others for guidance on how to solve the problem with no resolution, I was ready to bend and melt the PCA key, punt the PCA pump like I was going for a goal in World Cup, and administer aggressive pillow therapy to anyone who dared suggest something I had already attempted.

I decided to walk away and readdress the issue in 20 minutes.

Next I decided to give the PCA key to a different RN, who knew nothing of the problem, and let her go for it.

She was able to turn the pump off--that was all I had been trying to do. In my mind, I fell to my knees and bowed at the waist to her, arms outstretched, and I kissed the ground she walked on. OMG! WTF! I thanked her repeatedly, even though she could not tell me how she had completed this elusive task.

With the pump now appropriately set, and my patient's pain better controlled, I proceeded to change his/her abd dressing. My patient cried, yelled, and carried on like a non-compliant detainee at fat camp having his/her last chocolate bar torn from his/her pudgy fingers.

As tempting as it was to pack the wound a little more than necessary, I refrained.

This same patient had an ostomy appliance that needed frequent emptying, because of gas collection. I suggested that because he/she could help with this, I would leave the collection container at hand, for he/she to use as needed. My patient proceeded to use this container as his/her personal trash can, then called me to the bedside. "Does this pouch need emptying?," my patient asks.

As tempting as it was to give a wry sharp tongued response, I refrained.

I emptied the "trash" container, decompressed the pouch, put the container out of my patient's reach, and exited the room.

My next patient had concerned family members, with one becoming what I like to term a "monitor vigilante." This patient had an AICD/pacer, and the monitor misread the pacing spikes/rhythm as PVCs. The monitor kept alarming "trigeminy," "bigeminy," "VT." It was maddening. I reset the alarms, to make it stop. I then observe the patient's "monitor vigilante" almost nose to screen, wondering why it was not alarming.

As tempting as it was to call into the room, using the call system, and say to the "monitor vigilante," "didn't your parents teach you not to move close to the screen! You will ruin your eyes! Back away from the screen!," I refrained.

From there, my night got worse (like it could actually do that!)...

Normally, I am a quiet, happy person. When I left work this morning, I felt positively evil. I believe I even walked about the unit, daring someone to ask me how my night was. I had that evil grin on my face and glimmer in my eye that I normally reserve for people I loathe.

And I still am feeling positively evil, as I glare at my spiteful cat...