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Sister Nurse: The other side of the bed, part II

Stressed Out Nurses Weekly, April 14, 2008

By Karen L. Madsen, MSN, APRN-BC

If you missed last week's Ezine, check out the first part of "The other side of the bed."

Four hours after our initial check-in, we were admitted to the main emergency room and eventually, things got much better. We had a stellar nurse named Kristi, who came to our room with morphine in her hand for our girl. Kristi was kind, she was efficient, and she was incredibly skilled and competent. The doctor on call was concerned and also very kind. After a CT scan and a call to the surgeon, Grace was on the way to surgery. There was a lovely OR nurse named Bill who took her clammy hand out of my desperate grasp and held her hand all the way down the hall as she rolled off to surgery. That moment rates right up there as one of the five worst of my life. My daughter, my baby, was now in the hands of people I didn't know and had never met. I had zero control. I was helpless to fix this.

Fifty-eight minutes and 45 seconds later, her surgeon met us in the waiting room. Grace had a perforated appendix and I had missed it. All those signs and symptoms and I had missed it. Her belly was full of pus, she was septic, and I had missed it. Some mother, some nursing professor, and some advanced practice nurse I was! Her dad tried to make me feel better, the staff on the floor tried to make me feel better. Finally, her surgeon told me "to just stop it. You're not helping anyone." I joked that "I run for mother of the year all the time." But I was appalled: How could I have passed off appendicitis for the flu? How could I have discounted her pain for just being dramatic?

But pretty quickly, I was too busy for self-recrimination. She wanted us in the recovery room, she wanted us in her room, and she wanted one of us with her 24/7. So I was. I helped turn her and got her to cough. I rubbed her feet and got her new socks and tried to untangle her hair. I was fully her mom but I was also fully her nurse (not my role, in case you missed it.) I made her blow in her Spiro meter (and she cried). I made her sit up on the bedside (and she cried). I made her walk and walk and walk (and she cried and she cried and she cried). I began to try and control what I could. I made my own MAR (medication administration record), I kept my own I's & O's. I wrote down her caregivers, I wrote down questions for her surgeon. I knew some nurses on the floor she was on because of school clinicals that I had taught. I knew who I wanted for her nurse and who I didn't; I wasn't shy about asking for the right ones and refusing the wrong ones.

So, yes, I was one of "those" mothers. I tried hard not to be but about 24 hours into our stay, I gave up.

Read the rest of the article on our Web site and post your comments on the article, which appeared on the U.S. News & World Report health blog.

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