I Screwed Up

There I was at work, still feeling like a zombie due to the effects of yesterday's workload (which includes lab chores, MCAT studying, and the ER midshift I covered) and the usual lack of sleep. What's worse is that I am not working my regular graveyard shift that I am not certainly accustomed to. The midshift, 1pm to 1am, is certainly a different environment. A busier atmosphere owing to the volume of patients being seen by the morning people and the constant influx of new cases to be seen. Couple that with the morning shifters who are at the top of their game and who are less laid-back than the people I am so used to working with and the unusual energy associated with that entity called "daytime". Man. It's a killer.

"Hey Reinier, they need a wheelchair to the breezeway."

I went to grab a wheelchair and as I was making my way outside the ER, I was contemplating on what the problem this patient may have, and what I am supposed to do. The bread and butter things went through my mind. Breathing problems? Grab the patient right away and get a bed, page respiratory, get O2 sats, and give O2. Chest pain? Go to triage, get an EKG right away. Drunk? Don't even. It's not the night shift yet. Assault? Not the night shift yet, too.

A pulled-over ford taurus was waiting for me. The young lady frantically opened the passenger's side and showed me what was going on. Her co-worker's right foot was wrapped in a thick bloody sheet, with her sock inside soaked entirely in blood. Shiiii-et. How much blood did this lady lose? She's not showing signs of hypoxia. I instructed the victim's er, the patient's friend to register her information in the lobby while I took the poor lady inside the ER.

As with any workplace, there is always that one manager that every person, be it a menial worker bee or a collegial equal has respect for, and that no one dares to fuck with. This is by virtue of that manager's authority, expertise, and unparalleled experience. No one can dispute whatever that person has to say. No one cannot overpower that person. That person is the epitome of workforce dominance. That person in our ER is A.B. (can't reveal true name for fear of being unemployed at an unlikely time and manner).

I brought the lady into bed 6. It so happened that A.B. was on, and she was in close proximity. I told her the patient's history that I've managed to find out- varicose vein got hit by the side of a wheelchair step and it popped, causing the huge bleed.

She went to check it...

What were the things that were going through my head at that instant A.B. was inspecting the patient?

"Shit, I did the right thing because she bled a lot and it seems like a serious thing. What if she goes into shock (highly unlikely, 5L of blood volume versus approximately, I dunno, less than a cup?)? Or what if it were actually an artery that may be spurting blood (you dumbass!!! she said it was a varicose VEIN! listen to the fucking patient!)? Hmmmm (oh no you idiot...this is apparently non-life threatening, and there are patients waiting in th lobby ahead of her with more emergent issues!)..."

After a thoughtful percollation of events, it was clear. I SCREWED UP.

A.B. told me to dress the wound and transfer the patient to the eye chair- where the least emergent cases are seen, if there are no ophthalmology cases. After executing her orders, I knew it was time for my execution.

"Airway, breathing, circulation. You know the prority. Sometimes things are not as worse as they look. This is not threatening...get her vitals now." Her non-yelling demeanor manifested the seriousness of her remark. I knew right away that this was no time to give a life-saving bullshit apology.

As she was saying these, I remembered how a regular slice of bread turns into toast. I was the bread, she was the oven. And I became T-O-A-S-T.

I finished up on her orders and I offered more help. "Anything else, A.B.?"

"YOU have done enough already" plus a jestful whack on my head/back with the patient's chart. Luckily it wasn't attached to the clipboard. I just smiled.

When I got off the hook, I laughed to myself. I sucked. The rest of the workday became even more hilarious- everything I did that caught A.B.'s attention was greeted by a "what the hell" look (of course I know A.B. was kidding, or at least half-kidding.).

Thank God I'm back to working nights.