How much can I handle?

Last week I walked into a murder scene...

As a nurse, and a relatively new one at that, I often ask myself how much I can handle. Meaning, at what point will I be so grossed out, overwhelmed, stressed, terrified, or exhausted that I lose it? So far my career has been pretty plush. I work on a unit that's relatively cut and dry. All our patients have expected outcomes and they usually comply quite nicely. Sure, we have the confused, the belligerent, two-faced, or sorry-I-can't-understand-you patients, but with teamwork we get through it to tell the tale. But I've always wondered what my limit is.

So last week I walked into what looked like a murder scene. There was blood everywhere: on the floor, on the patient, on the couch, on the blinds, in the bed, and just about everywhere but the ceiling. My patient was sitting glassy-eyed on the couch. Fatima (name changed) looked so confused amidst the splatters and puddles of blood that at first I wasn't sure what had happened.

After alerting the other nurses that I needed some help, we donned our gloves and went to work cleaning things up so we could figure out what had happened. When I touched Fatima's shoulder, she jolted so violently I'm sure she had been sleep walking. But first you need a little background. Fatima had just arrived on my unit 4 hours before after major back surgery. She was in excruciating pain but very much awake, alert, and oriented. With strict instructions to stay in bed and call me for help, I medicated her for pain with some potent drugs that she could control but it hardly seemed to touch her pain. The OR nurse had warned me that she had high tolerance for pain medication so I wasn't too surprised. I finally decided to pull out our biggest guns and gave her a powerful shot. Twenty minutes later she was softly snoring to my relief. I checked on her every 15 minutes to make sure she was ok while I was monitoring her heart rate and oxygen level from the nurses' station. About 90 minutes later I heard a soft alarm go off in her room which indicated her pulse was high. That's when I walked into what looked like her murder scene.

It turns out that Fatima had climbed over the bedrails, pulled out her IV and surgical drains, and was sitting pretty as you please, though slightly confused, on the couch. So much for bedrest and no twisting or turning of her back!

Four nurses, ninety minutes, 100 disinfectant wipes, new sheets, new gown, and new IV later, the room was glisteningly clean with no evidence of her crime.

Nope...it wasn't more than I could handle...so the question still begs to be asked. I truly hope I never find out.

PS - I found out that this night was the calmest night of her hospital stay!!