Room 1 is an 84-year old stroke, clotted off her whole left carotid. We had to place a central line. Her BP is supposed to be like, 220.

Room 2 is a forty-something with c-spine surgery that lead to fulminant meningitis on the ventilator.

Room 3 is a COPD-er who is breathing 30-40 and dropping his saturations to the low nineties on BiPAP who we are giving one last shot at breathing because if we tube him he will never breathe without help again.

Room 4 is an intubated subarachnoid hemorrhage who moves her feet, sometimes, and blinks.

Room 5 got tPA today and was bleeding from her IV, her ET tube, her NG tube, and her eyeballs when she arrived. Her blood pressure is supposed to be low. Pray I don't mix room 1 and 5 up.

Room 7 is a poor guy who got mugged for three dollars after his car skidded into a ditch and the person who offered to help him beat him up. He only moves half his body.

Room 8 is bleeding from her tracheostomy, has renal failure, and can't move because she's been here so long. She's having trouble breathing.

I'm the only white coat here.

Only six more hours until the others return.

Only five hours, fifty-nine minutes until the others return.

And so on.

1 comment:

medicine girl said...

Holy shit. These stories are just too sad. I pray you find ways to restore your mental health after days like these.