Seriously.

Seriously. Are you tired of my whining, I-hate-my-job, my-job-is-sucking-the-life-from-my-weary-bones posts? Because, seriously. Last. Night. Sucked.

I don't even know where to start, except to make sure emphasize the fact that I am sick and tired of trying to take care of ETOH-w/d GIB with ESLD, encephalopathy, confusion, and of course nutso. And because that alone is not fun enough, the doctors like the write orders for me to give them either lactulose or Golytely because nothing makes a nurse happy like cleaning up liters and liters of liquid poo. So yeah, that was my night, times two, since I had two patients, in the same situation.

To save you time, I'll sum up the highlights:
- Wondering why his oxygen levels dropped a bit on the monitors, I checked in on Loony #1, only to find him and his bed covered in feces. Patient had a feces-covered washcloth in his mouth, shoved into his mouth, and refused to part with it when I tried to take it out. A brief struggle ensued. Not pretty. And also, my internal nursey filter for How to Speak Therapeutically and with Empathy to Patients at all Times has officially gone south. I now find myself saying things like, "You cannot have poop in your mouth! Open up!" I believe I also heard myself utter, "Seriously. Because it's just gross."
- Wondering why Loony # 2 was not mumbling for a few moments, I checked in to find him attempted to pull out his IV lines and any other tube he could find. When I tried to thwart his efforts, he grabbed at the IV line and pulled the entire IV pump and pole into his bed. Then, since I'm such a party-crasher, he got really pissed off and tried to push me away and wave his arms and hit me.
- When I called out for help to restrain Loony #2, the other nurses ran into Loony #1's room, assuming that's where I was. I'm all, "No, I'm in the OTHER crazy room!"
- During restraint process, involving 5 RNS and a boatload of Ativan, Loony #2 creatively called us all every obscenity he could find. It turns out he's quite an angry misogynist, as he declared that we were all dykes. Big nasty dykes. My neuro assessment was further complicated by his answers to my questions..."Do you know where you are, Mr. Loony?"
"Yeah, I'm at Dyke Central!"
"Do you know what day it is, Mr. Loony?"
"Yeah, it's the Day of Dykes on Trikes!"
There is no checkbox for those responses on the CIWA protocol (alcohol withdrawal) flowsheet, however.
- Loony #1 exercised his lungs for at least two hours by constantly yelling, "Help me!" then claiming that he would be telling his lawyer all about this.
- Later on, Loony #2 earned himself ankle restraints after I dodged several feet and leg kicks aimed at my head. And that internal nursey filter? It didn't stop me from telling him, "Seriously. Just stop talking. Stop talking now." But I could honestly think of no empathetic, therapeutic way to get him to stop spewing every nasty word for women's private parts along with a description of them.

So seriously. At least I feel completely justified when I say, "I need a vacation."