exskibum
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Jebus, Hans! Glad you're recovering. Some kinda ride report so far. Gonna have to check back in for the conclusion to see if the patient makes it.
JB's Excellent (Near Death) Adventure
- Thread starter James Burleigh
- Start date
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BikerGeek99
Yeah, it's a concrete corn cob. So?
beemerdons
Certifiable Old Fart
So Andy, that means OM was right and tight behind your *** cheeks; thank you so very much for that visual! FJR Forum Motto: Don't Ask and Don't Tell!!!
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BikerGeek99
Yeah, it's a concrete corn cob. So?
I DO have pictures, Don.So Andy, that means OM was right and tight behind your *** cheeks; thank you so very much for that visual! FJR Forum Motto: Don't Ask and Don't Tell!!!
For those that haven't seen 'em, I just thought I'd spare him the humiliation this time...
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wheatonFJR
...
Man...those guys sure look "friendly".
Not that there's anything wrong with that...
with a couple of Buttwipers in hand, no less...
What the hell is up with that? :huh:
"Thank You, Hope to see you again?"
PS - yeah, I like the old Carly tunes. I'm man enough to admit it.
What the hell is up with that? :huh:
"Thank You, Hope to see you again?"
PS - yeah, I like the old Carly tunes. I'm man enough to admit it.
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beemerdons
Certifiable Old Fart
Ah, True Love; Always So Beautiful! +1, Gunny!Man...those guys sure look "friendly".
Not that there's anything wrong with that...
dcarver
Well-known member
JB, we need another installment before this man-love thing worsens...
wfooshee
O, Woe is me!!
If anybody had pictures of me drinking Budweiser I'd have to shoot myself.
Hans - Glad you're doing better and did the right thing in calling 911. Heal up and keep the writing up, great reading for us.
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wheatonFJR
...
Yeah, how does it feel to have that catheter pulled out your urethra...
...seems like it would be a bit aggravating.
eeyyyttccchhh.
Silver Penguin
Silver Penguin
They DID deflate the balloon before pulling it out, right? The catheter is retained by a water or saline filled balloon that is filled after insertion. Don't ever think about pulling your own catheter out unless you know how to deflate the balloon. :sicksmiley02:
Next chapter, please JB. The natives are starting to get restless, and posting pictures of Old Michael.
dcarver
Well-known member
The balloon failed to completely deflate. But, by that time, I could have cared less.Oh wait, YES, I CARE!
Oh good gawd above...
come on JB...
James Burleigh
Well-known member
The funnest part of going to the hospital is getting to go bed surfing down the long, smooth, linoleum-floored hallways, pushed by two or three RNs. Yeehaw! You lift your head up off the pillow just enough to watch the civilians dive out of the way as you go steam-rolling by: “Outta the way! Coronary coming through! Outta the way!”
As we flew along toward the Cath Lab all I had to worry about was whether Mr. Johnson was also in a position to see where we were going: “Excuse me, nurse. Am I decent?”
“We’re almost there.”
What? What’s that supposed to mean? Does that mean that only a few more random people walking down the hall are going to see my “groin”? (I figured out that in a hospital the term “groin” is used to refer, on the vertical axis, to everything from just below your beltline to your thighs, and on the horizontal axis, to everything from one outside edge of your hips to the other. The groin I was concerned about was in a very specific location.)
We finally pulled up into the Cath Lab, and for about the fourth time I was shoved from one gurney or bed onto another. I never knew if I was supposed to help or just shut up and lie still like a sack of potatoes; maybe more like a body rolled up in a carpet. So, figuring that my job is to make everybody’s job easier at the hospital, I would ask, “Can I help?”
But most of the time I was on the new bed before I had my question answered. The people man-handling me completed this act of legerdemain with the same ease of a magician pulling the tablecloth out from under the full dinner set without disturbing anything. Wow! How’d they do that? I was starting to think these folks who work in hospitals have got some of this stuff pretty well figured out.
I still had to urinate pretty good and was simultaneously excited and terrified about the prospect of relief. At about that moment there came a tug, a shove, and then a widening of my eyes and then my mouth in a silent scream as I experienced for the first time something going up the down staircase down there, and rather violently at that. I took a deep breath and then felt some relief. Ahhh…. I say only “some” relief because it seems that Mr. Plastic Tube intruder makes you think you still have to use the toilet.
In the mean time, some kind of huge machine was moved into position just over my chest, only a few inches away. I’m pretty sure the doctor explained to me what was going to happen, but my mind was elsewhere: my chest was still throbbing, I was a little loopy from everyone’s mishandling of that dangerous and I’m pretty sure illegal drug morphine, I’d just had a rather sobering reminder that my body was not under my own control, and I was still trying to work out the words to the Star-Spangled Banner: “The rockets red hair, then bursting I stare….” Bursting. Yep: still felt like I hadda pee.
Oops. There’s my groin area getting some attention again. This time I could feel someone shaving me, apparently where the catheter would be inserted for the procedure. I wanted to ask for the full bikini wax, and was prepared to pay extra for it. But then I remembered it was November and my beach-going days for the year were probably behind me.
I glanced around to see what I could see and caught sight of a TV monitor just above the bed to my left. Great! A TV. Maybe there was a football game on, this being Thanksgiving week and all. Except it looked like they had it tuned to some stupid-*** PBS station running some kind of medical documentary. They were showing some poor dumb sonofabitch’s heart it looked like. I’ve always hated those medical documentaries where they’re opening up some guy or sticking something that looks real painful into him. I never watch them because they always make me feel so fragile and vulnerable, watching the doctors slicing and dicing and shoving organs around. Yeech! I didn’t ever want to have to be the guy on that TV show.
So I turned my face away…. Now, how’d that song go again?
As we flew along toward the Cath Lab all I had to worry about was whether Mr. Johnson was also in a position to see where we were going: “Excuse me, nurse. Am I decent?”
“We’re almost there.”
What? What’s that supposed to mean? Does that mean that only a few more random people walking down the hall are going to see my “groin”? (I figured out that in a hospital the term “groin” is used to refer, on the vertical axis, to everything from just below your beltline to your thighs, and on the horizontal axis, to everything from one outside edge of your hips to the other. The groin I was concerned about was in a very specific location.)
We finally pulled up into the Cath Lab, and for about the fourth time I was shoved from one gurney or bed onto another. I never knew if I was supposed to help or just shut up and lie still like a sack of potatoes; maybe more like a body rolled up in a carpet. So, figuring that my job is to make everybody’s job easier at the hospital, I would ask, “Can I help?”
But most of the time I was on the new bed before I had my question answered. The people man-handling me completed this act of legerdemain with the same ease of a magician pulling the tablecloth out from under the full dinner set without disturbing anything. Wow! How’d they do that? I was starting to think these folks who work in hospitals have got some of this stuff pretty well figured out.
I still had to urinate pretty good and was simultaneously excited and terrified about the prospect of relief. At about that moment there came a tug, a shove, and then a widening of my eyes and then my mouth in a silent scream as I experienced for the first time something going up the down staircase down there, and rather violently at that. I took a deep breath and then felt some relief. Ahhh…. I say only “some” relief because it seems that Mr. Plastic Tube intruder makes you think you still have to use the toilet.
In the mean time, some kind of huge machine was moved into position just over my chest, only a few inches away. I’m pretty sure the doctor explained to me what was going to happen, but my mind was elsewhere: my chest was still throbbing, I was a little loopy from everyone’s mishandling of that dangerous and I’m pretty sure illegal drug morphine, I’d just had a rather sobering reminder that my body was not under my own control, and I was still trying to work out the words to the Star-Spangled Banner: “The rockets red hair, then bursting I stare….” Bursting. Yep: still felt like I hadda pee.
Oops. There’s my groin area getting some attention again. This time I could feel someone shaving me, apparently where the catheter would be inserted for the procedure. I wanted to ask for the full bikini wax, and was prepared to pay extra for it. But then I remembered it was November and my beach-going days for the year were probably behind me.
I glanced around to see what I could see and caught sight of a TV monitor just above the bed to my left. Great! A TV. Maybe there was a football game on, this being Thanksgiving week and all. Except it looked like they had it tuned to some stupid-*** PBS station running some kind of medical documentary. They were showing some poor dumb sonofabitch’s heart it looked like. I’ve always hated those medical documentaries where they’re opening up some guy or sticking something that looks real painful into him. I never watch them because they always make me feel so fragile and vulnerable, watching the doctors slicing and dicing and shoving organs around. Yeech! I didn’t ever want to have to be the guy on that TV show.
So I turned my face away…. Now, how’d that song go again?
worldbound4now
Well-known member
I love hearing the patient perspective. 12 years of ER and trauma nursing sometimes creates distance between the patient and the providers of acute health care. People who articulate well and express themselves as you do help keep me grounded.
worldbound4now
Well-known member
Speaking of songs.... Oddly, the song Stayin' Alive has the perfect tempo to teach a new tech/student/nurse the correct compression rate for CPR.
Silver Penguin
Silver Penguin
I agree, and am grateful to Hans for taking the time to amuse, entertain and educate. ICU nurses sometimes forget that the occasional patient is conscious and capable of rational thought processes.
