Head Nurse, Crazy Annie, Implements the Finder's Rule

Long time bedside nurses are just plain different, a breed of their own forged in a cauldron of unspeakable pain, suffering and just plain old garden variety misery. A mystical force motivates these caregivers to give all of themselves in the care of others. Mention self care to one of these hard core nurses and you are apt to get a snoot full of Camel cigarette smoke propelled by the robust laughter. If you were taking care of yourself, you were neglecting patients.

Crazy Annie was one of the most memorable old  nurses I had the experience to work with. Her facial expression reminded me of the Whistler's Mother painting; an aloof stare just waiting for an opportunity to unleash a verbal bomb.  She was a big lady with the arms of a power lifter from transferring patients. One of her innate beliefs was the notion that Hoyer lifts were impersonal and dehumanize the patient. I suggested that back breaking lifts were inhumane for nurses and received  an ear beating that I remember  all too well. Annie did not tolerate fools.

With retirement looming Annie became  even more vociferous with her various edicts about patient care. She believed that nurses should be on their feet the entire shift. "You can't take care of a patient if you are warming a chair," was her admonishment to anyone sitting around the nurse's station. She hollered at me for "holding up the building" when I was so exhausted that I was leaning against the wall in the dirty utility room after an especially grueling session with a balky hopper.

An assistant director of nursing outfitted in her finest attire made the mistake of rounding on Crazy Annie's floor. She was an unwelcome outlier to Annie. Bedside nurses were a tight knit group where people were unimpressed by degrees or rank, but how dedicated they were to caring for the sick. Annie  had a not so latent dislike for nursing administrators and derisively referred to them as "office sitters." I think that's where I picked up the use of the pejorative reference to those nurses who choose to avoid patient care. It might be insubordinate to think so negatively  about those in charge, but it would not be a mistake.

I hope the nurse administrator had room for gloves in her Vuitton Purse.

A fancy dressed, nurse busy body, from administration came strutting up to Crazy Annie with an urgent message. "The patient in room 606 bed 2  is covered in feces."  I smelled trouble in the air as Annie's eyebrows began their little dance as her mind percolated. Annie then started tapping her toe and had that look about her that always made me nervous. She squared herself to the offending nurse office sitter and sternly announced, "I'm instituting the finder's rule on this unit. Whoever finds the mess cleans the mess. Now get to it."

The Gucci nurse was paralyzed as Annie volunteered me as a helper by exclaiming, "Nurse Fool will help you turn the patient to make it easier for you. You look like the type that wears gloves for the unsavory tasks. The Central Supply Cart is in the clean utility room."

I hustled on down to room 606 with the Gucci nurse in tow. Upon arrival, the unsavory nature of the scene began to unfold. It was one of those my cup runeth over type of code brown's to use the whippersnappern  vernacular. A gurgling, gooey, smelly  mess of the highest order. The befuddled office sitter pressed her hands to her cheeks in deep thought. Just as I thought she was about to pitch in and help, she backpedaled like a circus unicyclist into the nearby stairwell.

As I went about the task of making the patient clean and comfortable, I could hear Crazy Annie proudly proclaiming, "I bet we don't see hide nor hair of her for a good long time!" A temporary victory in the land where all wellness is fleeting and office sitters have the final word.

A Shout Out To My Russian Readers

I've been delighted by a sudden increase in pageviews from readers in Russia. It boggles what's left of my foolish mind to realize that I can reach folks so far away from the basement of my humble little hovel. Maybe it's therapeutic to put my reclusiveness on the back burner and extend my foolishness to others.

I had the wonderful experience of working with a Russian educated surgeon - one of the perks of working at a big city academic hospital. I admired how she used her newly acquired English language skills. None of that subject, verb, predicate rigamarole that was drilled into us during high school English class. Direct, no nonsense commands were the order of the day. One of my favorites was, "Fix him to the bed," which meant limit the patient's mobility with a restraining device. "Scissors," became "scissor" because there was only one scissors used at a time. Russian English really made sense and got the point across.

Dr. Ospov, had a couple of unique surgical customs. She loved using long handled needle drivers and forceps. Muscle memory is a powerful force and once acclimated to a long surgical instrument, it's tough to change. Long instruments always amplified any fine tremor present in my lunch hooks fingers so I regarded them with caution. If you want to see an angry surgeon, just try to slip a smaller length needle driver into the mix. Don't fool with muscle memory.

I'm not certain that its a wide spread custom in Russia to eschew prophylactic surgical drains, but Dr. Ospov hated them. Her tight closure of tissues eliminated dead space and  minimized the need for drains. She also liked to throw in a couple of half hitches at the end of suture lines to help maintain the integrity of the closure which seemed like a good idea to me.

I vividly recall one scene that illustrates her no nonsense, get it done approach. We were called to a ward because a patient toppled out of his wheelchair sustaining a nasty occipital skull laceration. When we arrived on the ward, the patient was sprawled out on the floor next to a festive looking Christmas tree. As I prepared to transfer the patient back to the ward for suturing, Dr. Ospov barked, "Grab me a suture set and get down here to help me." The patient was positioned on the floor with his Bye Bye decubiti pad comfortably under his wounded head. I knelt down next to the good doctor as she deftly threw a half dozen sutures in the wound. It was quite a scene with the red blood and green Christmas tree in the background. She really knew how to get things done without a fuss.

Show Me the Money and I Will Show You Why That CVP Line Stopped Transducing

It really grinds my gears when entrepreneurially minded nurses seek to monetize assorted tutorials for learning clinical skills. Theoretical nursing in an academic environment is ridiculously overpriced and I understand the plight of whippersnapperns facing exorbitant school loans, but bedside procedures should be passed along  with a sense of pride and  respect for the history of nursing. The sense of well being gained by seeing a young nurse confidently perform a procedure you showed her how to do is priceless. It's your extension in time and will bring a warm feeling to your foolish heart when you are old like me.

Image courtesy Maklay 62

Diploma schools were big on ceremony and pageantry with ascent through the nursing hierarchy. Youngsters today may have dollar signs in their eyes, but for us, the ultimate reward was that coveted pin. Dreams of walking down the aisle  with our Nightengale Lamps leading the way to receive our pins were what we thought of in troubled times. Thinking about money was distant in our minds and any mention of financial gain earned you a speedy exit from the program. It was just palin wrong headed thinking and an egregious example of putting your needs before others.

How do you unite nurses from different generations with different values? One  way was  passing on  clinical skills from experienced nurse to novice. The scrub nurse tricks of the trade that I learned from my nemesis, Alice, are precious beyond any means of monetary compensation. I didn't learn how to load a sponge stick one handed or count out ten 4X4s in a nanosecond by paying money to watch a video. No, she never smiled or encouraged me like the glad handing  nursing procedure hustlers selling their videos. Humiliation was a powerful motivator.

I shudder to think of the consequences incurred by  offering a Greatest Generation nurse money for procedure tutorials. They could survive on next to nothing because working as a nurse was a reward in of itself. Their  notion of self care was a 15 minute nap in the lounge after being called in for a middle of the night case and working 9 hours the next day. Life was meant to be difficult and nurse's were destined to a life of poverty. I admired them with unbounded abandon and was a mere sissy compared to their resolve. I wish a few of them were around to deal with today's nurse monetizers.

CVP lines were in their infancy when I was practicing and I made it my mission to learn all I could about central line procedures. Obtaining a central pressure involved a carpenter's level, a three way stop cock, and a manometer. Connecting them to a transducer opened up a Pandora's Box of problems and involved endless fiddling for a reading of dubious value. They were a real pain to deal with. I was thinking of producing a video explaining some of the pitfalls of CVP lines and possible solutions. Of course this is going to cost you, but, in all honesty, I would rather sell a kidney than profit from teaching the next generation of nurses. We are all in this together so let's pause and think about the needs  of novice  nurses before whoring out something sacred like the mastery of bedside procedures.

Overhead IV Racks Done in by IV Pumps and Controllers

An overhead IV rack in it's safest position-on the ground

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Imagine a device that would take advantage of unused vertical space above the patient's bedside and free up congested floor space. Sounds too good to be true?  Well, it was.  In the early 1970s a new fangled device came to our fancy new state of the art ICUs. Designed by architects with decades of office sitting experience, but loathed by nurses at the bedside, the wonderous new creation was overhead  suspended IV hangers.

The ceiling was equipped  with tracks that ran around the periphery of the bed in a semi-circle or as a single diagonal running from the foot to the head. A looped hook with ball bearing wheels roamed the confines of the track. The IV rack  had a pigtail like structure at it's upper most  point  that was carefully threaded through the hook and you were in the  business of IV bottles in the sky.

These clever contraptions utilized a release button that dropped the rack down to working level that just happened to be the height of the average bedside nurse. It was fun and games for all until  a spontaneous release that dropped the loaded rack in a nondeviating  path on the top of a vulnerable cranium below. Talk about Excedrin headache #47, that really smarts. I think overhead IV racks may have been the impetus for semi-private rooms. A nurse was concussed by an overhead IV rack and rather than open another hospital room, an additional bed was wheeled in for the traumatized practitioner.

Another problem with overhead racks was a phenomenon known as "uplifted bottle drift." My recollection of high school physics is a bit fuzzy, but one of the facts of inertia included the notion that once a body is set in motion, it stays in motion. A sudden lateral adjustment of the heavy glass bottles position in the ceiling track sometimes meant the contrivance flew past it's intended stopping point resulting in a most unpleasant crash/bang with light fixtures or anything else in it's path. Twin overhead racks over a single bed were an accident waiting to happen. If both loaded racks collided, a shattered glass shower was inevitable as the bottles self destructed. If you think cleaning up glass IV bottles from the floor is bad, you haven't seen anything, as an occupied bed full of injurious glass shards glass was far worse. A two for one deal of the supremely noxious variety as both nurse and patient were potential laceration victims.

Gravity was a dependable vector to deliver IV fluids, but there were lots of variables when the only controlling mechanism was a roller clamp. This necessitated endless fiddling and adjusting as vascular resistance varied or the fluid level in the bottle dropped. See-sawing IV drip rates were always explained by that ubiquitous "P" word. Positional covered lots of possibilities from the position of the IV catheter to the movement of an extremity.

A revolutionary development appeared in the mid 1970s. Fancy little IVAC machines with glowing electric eyes plastered to the drip chamber began appearing. This clever little apparatus accurately controlled pre-set drip rates. Older nurses thought they would never catch on due to their expense, but to me, they were magic in a box. IVACs and the even more sophisticated pumps that followed required an IV pole for support. IV poles meant the death of overhead IV racks. We did keep a couple of the flying IV racks on the unit because a few of the patients enjoyed posting family photos or inspirational slogans on the overhead racks. It was a genuine boon to patient morale to look up and see a reassuring image and some of the hazards of these racks was mitigated by the absence of heavy bottles.

If you are interested in acquiring an artefact of nursing/hospital history, there are loads of these fickle firmament flying fixtures for sale on EBAY. Just don't forget to duck!

Custom Made Signage by Nurses

 Hospitals are infested with signage developed by office sitting busy bodies promoting policy, giving direction, or threatening grave consequences for those with the nerve to be non-compliant with their all important edicts. Signs have authority and grab your attention. Who  in the world is going to fool with a red bag tagged with the warning: CHEMO THERAPEUTIC INFECTOUS WASTE? It's enough to scare the daylights out of a Pope.

Bedside nurses  put other's   needs before their own  because they are wired differently at the factory as compared to business minded hospital big shots. Information flows down from the top with a remarkable efficiency, but enlightenment gained in the trenches stays there. Hand made signs posted by harried nurses are an attempt  to break this communication barrier. It's difficult and dangerous to transition a one way street to bidirectional traffic, but that doesn't stop sign maker nurses from trying.

Nurses can be their own worst enemy. In nursing school we had a bulletin board for posting NLN test results that we called the wailing wall. Instructors were also known to publicly humiliate their students by posting signage advertising particularly egregious clinical  blunders. One memorable sign announced with great fanfare that "Gwen had attempted to irrigate her patient's Foley catheter with a TB syringe." That was cringe worthy because the syringe was too small by a factor of 100cc. or more.

Step down units are typically located adjacent to critical care units and the staff members get along about as well as cats and dogs. Step down nurses think ICU nurses are cowboy or girl know-it-alls with overblown egos and are eager to put these hot shots in their rightful place. I noticed a huge poster plastered on the ICU locker room door stating "THIS CAME OUT OF ICU." It was a double heparin locked IV catheter. An ICU nurse was probably doing a gazillion things at once and failed to notice the patients IV was capped with a heparin lock and hep locked the needle previously inserted. I figured out a scheme to convert the sign from an admonishment to amusement by inserting several more needles and hep locking  them in place so there was a series of hep locks about a foot long. A dose of good natured badinage helps improve relations among feuding groups of nurses.

UPMC, the health care behemoth here in Pittsburgh has power. When they acquired Montefiore Hospital which was built into a hillside ala Pennsylvania bank barn style they changed the names of the institution's floors. What nerve!  The hospital was entered from the summit of the hill on a floor called "Main." A, B, and C floors were underground and the floor above main was the first floor. UPMC renamed "C" level as the  first floor and the other units followed in numerical sequence. A series of lengthy, confounding memos and signage flowed from the corporate geniuses at UPMC explaining the new nomenclature. Leave it to a nurse to explain things in simple, straight forward language with her sign explaining, "MAIN HAS MOVED TO 4TH FLOOR AND FIRST FLOOR HAS MOVED TO THE 5TH FLOOR." It may have sounded whacky, but everyone knew what she meant.

Who made this sign? Not me!

Coffee is an essential on any nursing unit and anything impeding it's consumption must be dealt with. Our neuro ICU coffee pot shared electrical outlets with a vending machine and somehow the coffe maker was often unplugged. A nurse attached a sign to the electrical cord running from the coffee maker: "DO NOT UNPLUG-VITAL LIFE SUPPORT EQUIPMENT" Folks honored the official looking sign and we always had hot coffee.

Paul Obis RN - A Pioneering Nurse Influencer

Every young nurse graduates from training school with high minded dreams to heal the world, but after  a couple of years at the bedside the dream begins to fade as burnout sets in. No matter what you do to get around it, sooner or later, it's going to set in like the darkness of night.  An often times rigid and authoritarian hospital environment quashes outside the box thinking and  innovation. I was fortunate to attend school and work with a nurse that could see beyond the bedside and promote health and wellness on a more global scale. We were good friends even though our paths diverged as I stubbornly clung to bedside nursing and he moved on to a more grand vision.

Paul Obis entered nursing school a year after me. He was a slightly built young man with an engaging personality and shoulder length hair. The hair issue was a big deal in nursing school and addressed frequently at uniform inspections. Hair was thought to be a source of infection and everyone on the nursing staff had to keep their hair off the collar while working in the hospital. Paul opted out of the Brilliantine butch haircut for the  typical men in nursing coiffure and went with a pony tail to keep his locks off the collar. What worked for the girls worked for the guys.

Every student nurse has a shocking epiphany early on in nursing school, for me it was how much patients suffered. For Paul, it  was how terrible hospital food choices were for recovering  patients. In the early 1970s the ideal meal was a huge chunk of meat surrounded by something deep fried. The notion of "healthy food" was decades in the future. When someone heard that artificial ingredients and colors were a big component of their diet, the line of thinking was; those clever scientists are at it again. What will they think of next?

Nutition classes in the early 1970s nursing programs promoted notions that white bread was  just as nutritious as whole grain and the ideal protein source was a big chunk of animal flesh smothered in gravy. Paul was quick to note the malnourishment present in hospital patients as diets of the time did practically nothing to promote recovery. Vascular bypasses of one variety or another were the cutting edge procedures of the era. The sad part of this miraculous new surgery was the temporary nature of the complicated fix. Patients were returning to the hospital a few years down the road with their fancy grafts occluded by the very same atherosclerotic changes that afflicted their native anatomy.

The cholesterol theory relating saturated fats to vascular disease was in it's infancy, but this did not deter  Paul who began researching and promoting vegetarian diets as a boon to good health. Vegetarians were few and far between in the early 1970s and excluding meat from a diet was viewed in a freakish light. There was no internet or social media for folks to connect so Paul started writing a little 4 page newsletter with the proud title of Vegetarian Times.

Distribution was limited to the area around the immediate hospital on Chicago's North Side. By Vegetarian Times Issue No. 3 the newsletter circulated to areas that Paul could reach on his bright green  Schwinn Varsity bike. The VT footprint gradually grew to the point where I let Paul deliver them in my brand new Ford Pinto. Paul christened the little Runabout as  the Vegetarian Times Staff Car. A "LOVE ANIMALS -DON'T EAT THEM"  bumper sticker was proudly displayed which got me bemused looks in the Burger King parking lot. I was a blatant  carnivore and never really adopted the meatless life.

Vegetarian Times evolved into a full scale magazine and by 1990 Paul had a media blockbuster on his hands. He worked from an office in Oak Park with a staff of 25 producing the monthly magazine. When I saw the magazine for sale in the gift shop at the hospital where I worked in Pittsburgh, I came to realize the publication had journeyed full circle back to a hospital.

Yep, That's me endorsing VT. It's a good thing that

scrub nurse thing worked out. I was an awful model!

When we were young nurses it seemed as though time was giving us more and more. I now realize it can take everything away too. Sadly,  Paul died of Lewey Body dementia last June His memorial website of a life well lived is: http://paulobis.com/

A Vintage Operating Room Table

A classic Amsco O.R. Table. Turn one big wheel for elevation, the other for tilting

the head up or down. Grab the gear shift handles to activate breaks. Shift into first

gear and use the stirrups for gyne and urology procedures.

Old time operating rooms were furnished, not equipped like today's technological marvels. The focal point of just about any OR is the table because that's where the all the action happens. Vintage surgical platforms were crude, but effective pieces of furniture that could function without electricity. No complicated owner's manual  necessary. The adjustment wheels applied torque to gigantic screws that moved the table.

One of the design flaws was locating the position of the exposed screws with their inclined plane below the table.  Accessing the controls of a draped table required a trip down under for the circulating nurse. Circulating nurse was one of those new fangled terms and fools older than me called them "hustle nurses."  I was a frequent volunteer for this duty because I relished the serene environment  under a draped OR table while all that noise and fuss emanated from above.

During my under table sojourns it was all too easy to allow for some foolish daydreaming. Those big shining control wheels looked like they belonged on a yacht and sometimes I  imagined myself at the helm of a pleasure vessel on peaceful  Lake Michigan or driving a race car in the Indy 500.  A break from all the drama above always refreshed.

The exposed screws were also in a vulnerable spot when it came to collecting fluids from above. Blood would clot and dry on the surface of the adjustment screw so that subsequent rotations would produce a colorful rooster tail  of flying red flecks that reminded me of those spinning fireworks shooting sparks. The mini pieces of dried blood flying about would also refract the light from the big overheads creating a miniature light show that was a sight to behold

Surgeons had no direct control of patient positioning and were at the mercy of nursing and anesthesia to adjust the table. Positioning attempts were initiated immediately after the one...two...three... count  transferring the patient from a cart. Kindly surgeons like Dr. Slambow would always help lifting and transferring patients from the cart to table. Non verbal, cold as ice stares awaited less helpful surgeons who soon learned the up side of team work.

There were no specialty OR tables back in the days of one size fits all surgical platforms. Sand bags, rolled towels, airplane belt restraints padded with egg crate, and whatever else we could scrounge together made up our somewhat barbaric positioning armamentarium. (I just love that A...… word because it sounds like I might know what I'm talking about!) When we applied a restraint belt to a conscious patient the party line was always, "Since the table is so very narrow we use this for safety." There was no mention of the fact the belt helped keep them on the table if an abrupt anesthesia emergence occurred giving an alternative meaning to ambulatory surgery.