Dear diary,

Well, it’s past midnight and I’m blogging. I’ve set my alarm to ring every six hours at eight and two. Why? I’m administering antibiotics intravenously – one every six hours and the more powerful stuff every twelve hours.

Mom was admitted and discharged to and from the hospital on March 29 and on April 10, respectively. The hospital couldn’t find anything, except the initial blood culture showing some growth. But Mom still felt sick and weak.

Mom was given blood products, looked and felt better, and then went to the nursing home one block away. Her room number was 33B. Her obnoxious neighbor was 33A – both her and her husband are predujice against minorities.

As part of the survey during Mom’s discharge on April 13, I signed and dated the form (with a time stamp of 13:32 PM) and stated that we overheard the staff being called ‘slaves’. Yup. It’s another dose of racism. I took front and back photos of the survey sheet showing my bad hand writing and comments expressing concern.

Y’all see, the whitish whale blubber smelled and complained loudly when the tiny minorities were ‘serving’ her, but she was sweet as a dill pickle to the husband, whom my Mom sensed wanted the blob of a wife gone. The blob wore diapers and was buck naked.

Mom complained to the staff and helped to advise them to chart everything going on with 33A. I heard the crap myself. I don’t blog or rant without being an eyeball, or rather, hearing stuff that isn’t nice. I got loud, too. After handing my complaint, err, my survey form of mostly number four for excellent, we left the clean place after 13:32

Despite leaving Dad, who complained about not being able to tag along, at home to baby sit the front door for any incoming packages, Mom and I came home, took a quick shower, and hurried to greet the incoming nurse – a mixed Filipino Chinese kid who is taller and younger than me! I swear our furture generation (and kind) are NOT hopeless after all.

The kid cross-trained me and had to hurry to catch a flight that night. I had trouble on the scheduled midnight. Flushing the IV line was VERY difficult as I had to muscle the syringe of saline. I performed the push and pause technique.

And yesterday, I complained to the kid via text message that I encountered the same difficulty in flushing the IV and another nurse visited to check for blockage. I was told to use the red port which is primarly reserved for blood draws.

But the flushing was still difficult as I encountered strong resistence on the other port. Thanks goodness for double lumens. I was NOT happy and my fingers and hands were hurting from the daily struggle of washing and flushing.

After yesterday’s nurse visit, I learned a new technique, similar to the supervisor kid. Only instead of the slow drag of push and pause, I observed and heard yesterday’s nurse flushing in quick successions of push and pause. That worked! She used four syringes of saline and two syringes of heparin to flush both ports.

That’s why nursing is an Applied Arts and Science field – the science part is there but the arts part is being able to apply based on field practice, too. So while the IV drip appeared slower than the FIRST time usage of the new port, the duration of antibiotic with a dial-a-flo tubing can last around one hour!

The prescription label of the IV bag said OVER thirty minutes. But my stupid brain insisted at exactly thirty minutes. This assignment has supplemented my ability to ‘practice’ patience as I must maintain a steady hand and sterile handling.

Because we are paying outta pocket in the HUNDREDS for the course of six weeks, I cannot mess up our paid supplies of IV lines, syringes, caps, and whatnots, including ONE freaking box of sterile alcohol swabs, which I finished.

It’s 0242 am and I gotta go pass a crap load. I’m NOT a health professional but missed the opportunity.


Evil Kitty

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