Especially in the hands of a chronic pain family who feels the need to push the little red button for Daddy.
Pt post-op thoracotomy/lobectomy. Pt recieved, assessed, settled, resting quietly, denies breakthrough pain. Family invited back to visit.
"What is he getting for pain?" asks Mrs. Pt.
"He has morphine through the epidural pump. He gets a set dose per hour but also has the button here for breakthrough pain."
"Oh good!" she says, snatching up the little red button and pushing repeatedly. And by repeatedly, I mean she may have agitated her carpal tunnel syndrome. When I checked the pump to chart my epidural assessment two mintutes later ... delivered doses=5, attempted doses=35.
Great. Pt. dropped BP in PACU because of that shit. Awesome.
A few more minutes later I hear that oh-so-familiar monitor alarm. "DING DING DING. Bitch get in here, art. line pressure low. DING DING DING."80's/40's.
Freaking awesome. It's 1845. I would like to get home at a decent time tonight.
Mr. Pt. gets a little bolus and Mrs. Pt gets a little education and a swift kick in the ass back out to the waiting room til after I'm far far away.
Just because there's a bowl of M&M's that say "Free, eat me." Doesn't mean you go and eat them all. Just sayin.
No comments:
Post a Comment