There’s been loads written about nights in the emergency department in the UK, and quite frankly it’s pretty much all true.
We get an astonishing amount of dross through the doors, many of whom claim that people have ‘spiked their drinks’ – before explaining that they’ve had 6 pints, ‘a few’ shots, and maybe a few of those drinks consisting of fruit flavour to mask the cheap ethanol. But they can ‘handle their drink’ so their drink ‘must have been spiked’.
Why they imagine that after consuming 20 odd units of alcohol they’ll be feeling absolutely peachy is beyond me. By the time I was 18 I’d sussed that drinking half a bottle of voddy was enough to make me really quite ill and didn’t do it *that* often; and even despite drinking enough alcohol to float a small navy on some occasions during my youth, my friends were sensible enough to know the difference between ‘pissed out of one’s skull’ and ‘in need of the ED’.
Oddly though, I’ve had a dramatically non-standard set of night shifts. Monday was dull, to the point of me wishing I could reasonably sleep on one of the (many) empty beds and be woken when a patient came in. Tuesday and Wednesday were unutterably horrendous. Thursday was oddly okay, and Friday – well last night, was interesting.
At one point (a several hour long point) the number of police in the department actually outnumbered the number of nursing staff. Possibly even the total number of doctors and nurses. In bay one we had ‘drunk so much he was unconcious’ (he’s a regular though, sadly. We had a sweepstake going on his alcohol level (looser to make the tea) – I won :) ), in 2 we had ‘drug addict under arrest’ and in 3 we had ‘drunk and violent and under arrest’. My charming bunch were worked through and discharged, although I fully expect to see number 1 again tonight. I’ve seen him certainly 4 of the 5 nights I’ve worked this week.
Incidentally, 3 gave me one of the easiest requests to refuse I’ve ever had. He wanted a blowjob. At least it gave me and the police something to chat about – well, quite honestly we seemed to get on quite well. Depressingly though I’m starting to pick up the slang ‘clucking’, the charming gent in 2 was.
In amongst the dross though are the sad cases. The people who really should be there, and who don’t get as much time as they should because inconsiderate people drink more than they should and fall over (and in one case be so inebriated as to not be able to recognise his own son). A lovely older chap who’d fallen out of bed and sustained a nasty head injury, and I think the saddest of the week, a woman who having recovered from cancer came in with a bleed – and rapidly went downhill.
We fought and fought, but I’m told she passed away not too long after leaving the department. I love my job, and am pleased to say I knew when to step aside and let someone with more knowledge step in, but even still it was a surprise to see someone deteriorate so quickly – and she was so friendly – that was a hard one.
Especially, I think, as on the 28th of August 2 years ago my dad passed away from cancer. And whilst my sensitivity to this is not that huge; my mum reminds me of it, and perhaps it affects me subconsciously more than I realise. And maybe moreso this year following Aisling’s news about her mother. So. Yes. Anyhow, that got onto that rather more than I meant to.
Anyhow, I need to head to bed (once I’ve rung the garage to pay for the car repairs) and sleep for tonight is another night. Wish me luck :)
