In Your Shoes

I am the nurse, you are the patient. That is normal, that is how it is supposed to be every day I walk in to work. This normalcy can sometimes numb me to what it feels like to be on the other side. To feel tied down, needy, a little scared, and out of control. 

This week you were the nurse and I was the patient. First you asked me to exchange my comfortable sweats for a gown, complete with non-skid socks and a fall risk bracelet. I felt vulnerable and uncomfortable. I was a little snippy and recoiled immediately, realizing it was my vulnerability speaking and you were being nothing but nice to me.

Then you had to start an IV and it took three times. This was my fault for being dehydrated and having been NPO since the night before, but I wished you had just poked first at the vein I showed you. I smiled because I've been there and a nurse hates not being able to successfully get that first stick. I felt the vein blow and realized how much it actually hurts. 

You, the doctor, and the anesthesiologist approached me separately and confirmed that I understood the procedure and that all my questions were answered. This was nice. I felt as comfortable as a pre-op patient could and safe knowing my identity and surgery site had been confirmed multiple times. You knew I was cold and automatically draped with with a warm blanket. That also helped me feel better.

We wheeled into the frigid OR and I again felt uncomfortable as the nasal cannula was placed in my nose. The smell and taste of the oxygen made me queasy. I began to talk to the anesthesiologist and begged him not to over-sedate me. How much propofol are you using? I'm really trying not to be an obnoxious patient...they all laughed. All of a sudden the room became blurred and began to spin. 

What did you just give me???!!!

 That was some Fentanyl, he responded. I didn't want that! I hate you I moaned. I had never felt so dizzy. I also was miffed that he had administered the drug without warning me first. At least he had the courtesy to give me Zofran first. Again, feeling vulnerable and completely out of control. Then I was asleep. 

I look back and I think of you, the patient. I forget how scary and vulnerable it can feel to be tin your shoes. I forget to listen when you tell me which vein always works when you come in. I forget to bring you that warm blanket I promised you 20 minutes ago. Do I always explain all medications thoroughly enough before administration? Do I give you the benefit of the doubt when you lash out because you are afraid and don't know how else to respond? 

This week I was put in your shoes and I will take these lessons with me and remember next time what it's like to be you.