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It’s Not Like You Work Five Days a Week (Twelve-hour night shifts are hard on marriages)

Chapter 14 

For the third night in a row, I returned to the PICU. Shortly after shift report, the father of the child I told how to ask for pain meds for his kid walks in carrying three large boxes of pizzas. He sets them in front of me, on top of the nurses’ desk.

“My wife and I want to thank you PICU nurses for the extraordinary care our daughter received while she was a patient in this unit, and we are  treating you to a pizza dinner.”  He looked at me.

“So how is your daughter doing tonight?” I ventured.

“Great!” Her surgeon talked to us by phone. He wanted to make sure her pain medications kept her comfortable. We really appreciate his concern for her well being. She had a very good day, and we’re going home tomorrow.”

“That’s great news,” I told him. “Thanks for the update, and the pizzas.”

“It’s our pleasure,” he replied. “Enjoy!”

After he left, Liz looks at me quizzically, but only says, “Well Niki, you certainly excel at the ‘concierge service’ the hospital keeps pushing on us. Obviously that family thinks you’re the bomb. Way to score pizza! Thanks!”

***

At breakfast the next morning I swear Corey to secrecy, and tell him about Dr. Eubanks, the dad, and the pizzas. It was two of us, because Liz had to take her mother to a doctor’s appointment.

“That’s awesome, Niki. Way to advocate for your patient. I’m tired of being told to ‘manage up’ without a way to honestly speak up when I see something wrong. What administrator’s going to support a nurse’s concern about an under medicated patient over a surgeon’s insistence that his patients don’t need it? Nurses are hospital employees, and in most cases, doctors are not.”

“I think nurses could push on an issue like this in nurse council, but it takes forever to change hospital policy. My patients can’t wait that long for help. It’s a problem.”

“Amen,” agrees Corey.

The server brings Corey’s breakfast. I only ordered coffee because of the pizza I ate last night, but Corey’s ordered bacon, eggs, hash browns, and his usual beer. The bacon smells so good, and Corey notices me eyeing his.

“Go ahead Niki, have a piece.”

“Oh no. I ate all that pizza last night. I don’t need any more calories. Plus it’s your breakfast.”

“No, really have some,” he insists, placing a couple strips of bacon on my plate with his fork.

Corey watches me eat the bacon. It tastes heavenly. I love bacon.

A smile breaks across his dimpled face, making him adorable. I smile back.

“So, Niki, maybe it’s none of my business, but last time we had breakfast with the gang, it sounded like maybe there’s trouble at home.”

“Oh I don’t know… No, that’s not true. Maybe I expect too much from Simon. I mean he’s a good man, and an affectionate father. He was out of work for a while, but now he’s teaching again. You’d think that would get us back on track, but when he tells me about his day, like normal people do, I try to be sympathetic, but I’m thinking, “When I have a bad day at work, somebody’s child died.” He doesn’t understand why I can’t let my work go when I get home, like he does. How about you Corey? You didn’t say much about your marriage.

“My wife, Sheila, is beautiful. When I met her, she was a high-powered realtor selling spectacular homes for the wealthy. She was so girly, you know: blonde hair, pumps, always wore dresses. I fell hard.

I think I’m a big disappointment to her. I know she doesn’t consider three 12-hour nights shifts a week in a trauma center full time employment. She actually says that out loud,

‘You know, Corey, it’s not like you work five days a week like my friends’ husbands. They don’t sleep all day either.’”

“When the bottom fell out of the real estate market, Sheila went on hiatus. She’s home with the kids while I work, “single mothering it,’ as she calls it. On my days off I get the girls ready for school, drop them off, pick them up, shuttle them to and from dance classes, and then start dinner. Sheila leaves the house early in the morning for a full day of Pilates, a pedicure, her book club or shopping, and then happy hour with her girlfriends, but not before making a ‘honey do’ list of repairs around the house for me. Occasionally she texts me something she forgot. It’s pretty clear she doesn’t respect nursing as a career for a man.”

“Corey, I’m sorry. Your wife should spend a night watching you work in the ER. A lot of people are alive because you’re a great nurse.”

“Sheila would never willingly enter a hospital. She doesn’t want to know about the ‘blood and guts’ of my job. When I try to explain it to her, she tells me it’s not an appropriate conversation for our daughters to overhear.

“So, I pick up as much overtime as I can handle. I don’t know if it’s for the extra money, or to avoid being home anymore, but I get a lot of satisfaction from nursing. I’m part of a team there. It’s like I matter to something larger than myself.”

Corey and I have a silent moment of eye contact. He reaches across the table and touches my hand.

“Thanks Niki.”

Posted on by jparadisirn

Beer for Breakfast (The night shift goes out for breakfast)

Chapter 11

Fortunately, the next two shifts are uneventful, which actually feels weird after a traumatic shift like the last one. There’s not enough time in between to process what happens to our patients, and the role nurses play.

Every so often, someone in hospital administration suggests holding “debriefing” meetings for the nurses after a particularly distressing patient death, but the meetings never develop meaningfully. In my opinion, this is because the meetings happen on day shift, which is too busy for those nurses to leave the unit to attend, and too late in the day for night shift to stay up. Besides, in units requiring ICU technology skills, many a nurse’s days off are consumed at the hospital in the form of mandatory in-services, skill competency workshops, CPR renewal, PALS re-certification, staff meetings, etc. We get paid for the time spent attending, but at a certain point, it’s a case of diminishing returns to spend more time at the hospital. So I don’t attend the few debriefings that occur. Besides, I don’t want to talk about my feelings and sing Kumbya in front of my coworkers.

What I do enjoy with coworkers is going out for breakfast after a shift, especially if I don’t work the following night. This morning, a few of us are meeting at a popular diner a few blocks from the hospital to do just that.

Besides Corey from ER, Gerald the respiratory therapist, and Liz join us in the booth. The guys order large, while Liz and I share an omelet, and order coffee. Corey and Gerald drink beer. When Liz comments on this, Corey speaks up,

“Because Liz, that’s what dudes do after work. We go out for beer.”

“If I have a beer after a twelve hour night shift, I’ll have to sleep in my car before driving home,” I laugh.

“That’s because you’re a light weight female nurse Niki,” Corey teases. “ER nurses are manly men, despite the media’s and society’s feminization of our kind.”

We laugh.

Changing the subject, I interject:

“Hey Gerald, guess what happened last night in the PICU.”

“Buh.”

“No really, Gerald. You know that mom from bed two? Well, she came over to the nurses’ desk, and told me,

‘I don’t know who to report this to, but someone working in this hospital is hitting a child on the chest and back in room seven.’

So I get up and look in room seven, and Gerald, it’s YOU, giving chest percussion to a toddler!! I almost burst out laughing trying to explain to her that you’re a respiratory therapist, and what you were doing helps the patient breathe. I told her the kiddo’s doctor prescribed it.”

“Gee thanks, Niki. I owe you one. Probably saved me from being arrested as a child abuser or something. You nurses complain about not getting recognized for your work, but when was the last time you saw a respiratory therapist character on a TV show?”

“Whatever possessed you to become a respiratory therapist anyway, Gerald? You hold nebulizers in patients’ faces, and then suction snot out of their tubes. I nearly gag just listening to someone with a wet, hacking cough. How can you stand your job?”

There’s laughter around the table.

“Well, Niki, it’s because I want to work ‘in the exciting world of doctors,’ and have my life choices questioned by bitchy nurses like you. Keep your opinions to yourself girlfriend, and kindly ask the server to bring me some coffee while I go use the head, okay?”

There’s more laughter, followed by a brief silence while the server brings our food, and Gerald’s coffee.

Corey asks, “Does your husband take your daughter to school in the mornings after your shift Niki?”

“Yeah, and brings her home. Simon’s a school teacher.”

“And what about you, Liz, do you have kids?”

“Yes, a son. His name is Nathan. He’s fifteen, and takes the bus. Next year, he’ll learn how to drive, and I won’t have to depend on other people to shuttle him to baseball, and basketball practices while I work.”

“How long have you been divorced, Liz?”

“Seven years.”

“Are you dating anyone?”

“On nightshift?”

“It’s probably hard being a single mom, but on the other hand, maybe it’s not so bad having control over your own life,” I realize I’m musing out loud.

“There’s a lot to be said for marriage, Niki, like having someone there to divide up the work. Sometimes I think people are too caught up pursuing happiness, and it gets in the way of commitment. Maybe being happy isn’t the most important thing in life,” says Liz.

“I don’t know, that’s sort of heavy,” says Corey. “Just because you’re married doesn’t mean you have a partnership. I think it depends on expectations. Sometimes one spouse has more expectations than the other. It doesn’t always work. I don’t know if sticking it out for the sake of commitment is the right answer.”

“I’ve always felt that a happy marriage or partnership is a wonderful thing,” says Gerald. “But it’s better to single than married and unhappy. Nothing is lonelier than an unhappy marriage.”

“You can say that again,” I mumble while shoving a bite of omelet into my mouth.

Posted on by jparadisirn

For Whom the Phone Rings (Niki does ‘wine by phone’)

Chapter 10

After working a night shift, my soundest sleep occurs between 10 am and noon.

At 11 am the ringing of our landline phone wakes me. Drowsily, I pick up thinking it could be the school calling about Maddie. What if she’s sick, or hurt? But I forgot, the school only has Simon’s and my cell phone and work numbers. The landline is for Maddie.

It’s my sister, Raquel.

“Hullo?” I slur.

“Dammit, I woke you up, didn’t I? I’m sorry. I never know when you’re working.”

“It’s okay. I forgot to turn down the ringer.”

“Niki, why don’t you get rid of your landline and just use cell phones like normal people?”

“Because Simon and I think Maddie is too young for a cell phone. The landline is for Maddie.”

“You’re gonna have to let her grow up one of these days, Nik.”

“And this is why you woke me up?”

“No, I’m just checking in. Are you off tonight? Wanna do wine by phone?”

“Yeah, I am. Wine by phone is perfect. After dinner?’

“Yep. We’ll talk then. Goodnight, or whatever.”

“Goodnight.”

***

Raquel and her family live south of us, in La Jolla. It takes two hours to get there, depending on traffic, and the day of the week. It’s too far for us to get together regularly, so Raquel and I started wine by phone. Once a week or so, we each open a bottle of wine, and talk by phone for an hour or more. We sit in our kitchens drinking wine while catching up one each other’s lives. Our husbands and children are forbidden to interrupt wine by phone unless they are bleeding severely about the face or neck.

Besides being my sister, Raquel is my best friend.

“So Doll, things must be a lot better now that Simon’s working again, right?”

“Yeah, I think so. He’s happier for sure. He’s cut down on watching sports now that he has lesson plans and paperwork to do in the evenings. He helps Maddie with her homework more too. He’s preparing her for classes at Woodman next year. She loves the attention.

“What about you, Nik? Are things heating up a bit for the two of you?”

“I guess. I mean there’s more to talk about now that Simon’s working and has stories about his day. He’s spending time on his appearance again, and getting more exercise since he’s coaching too. If this lasts, maybe we’ll try to have another baby, although there’d be a big age gap between Maddie and a new brother or sister. Then again, we really should put money away for a down payment on a house. But there’s saving for Maddie’s college education too. I don’t know. I can’t seem to make up my mind. I think the weekend trip in Coronado will help. Thanks for taking Maddie for us”

“Niki, why don’t you stop worrying about the future so much and just make love to the man?

Silence.

“Right. Okay, so, how’s work? Are you still having breakfast with that ER nurse, what’s his name again?”

“Corey. Yeah, we go for breakfast once a week or so. Sometimes another nurse or two come along.

“Is Corey cute? Have you hooked up with him yet?”

“What? No! I mean, yeah he’s cute. No, we’re not hooking up. He has kids. He’s married.”

“So are you Niki.”

“What are you saying Raquel? What are you getting at?”

“Nothing Niki. Nothing at all. Don’t get all defensive.

We’re happy to have Maddie for the weekend when you and Simon go to Coronado. So when are you going to get her a cell phone?”

Posted on by jparadisirn

Call 911 (Niki comes to the aid of a family in distress at the grocery store)

Chapter 4

The rest of that shift was uneventful. Once dayshift arrived, I gave report on the new admission, and my other patient too. I wash my hands, use the restroom, and wash my hands again.

Never get into a car with a full bladder.

I leave the hospital by the ER exit on my way to the parking lot.

From the driver’s seat, I wrap my stethoscope back in its place of honor around the rearview mirror, lowering the driver’s side window so the cool morning air can keep me awake on the drive home.

It’s seven forty-three am. Simon is getting Maddie ready for school about now, I think to myself. The morning sky is overcast, good weather for daytime sleeping. I can get in a few solid hours of sleep before Maddie comes home from school.

While sliding the key into the ignition, my cell phone rings. It’s Simon.

“Hello?”

“Hey Nik, it’s me. How was your night?”

“Uneventful. What’s up?”

“”I made Maddie pancakes for breakfast and used up the last of the eggs and milk.  Would you pick up some on the way home from work? Oh, and some elbow macaroni too. I’m going to make macaroni and cheese for dinner.”

“Why can’t you do it after you take Maddie to school?”

“Because, love, I have a job interview at Woodman at 10, remember? I need to come home and dress the part.”

“Sorry, I forgot. What about after that?” I whined.

“No good. I have to get home and put together dinner before picking Maddie up from school. The play-offs start today.”

“Can’t you record the play-offs and watch them later?”

Silence.

“Okay, I’ll stop at the store on my way home. Milk, eggs, and elbow macaroni, right?”

“Oh, and get some cheddar cheese. I just looked in the fridge. We’re out of cheddar cheese too.”

“Anything else?”

“Broccoli? Yeah, broccoli. Maddie needs to eat more vegetables. See you when you wake up, Hon. Love you!”

“Yeah. Okay. Me too. And Simon, good luck with the job interview. I know you’re the best candidate.”

I start the ignition, and drive home the long way, so I can stop at the store, feeling guilty I forgot about Simon’s job interview this morning. I should try to be a better wife.

Entering the grocery store, I perk up thinking that the good thing about early morning shopping is that there’s not a whole lot of people. The lines are short, and I can get in and out quickly. I grab a cart, mostly just to have something to lean against while going up and down the aisles after standing most of the night.

A distracted woman is pushing a cart with a boy sitting in it who looks about two years old. Alongside trails his brother, who looks about four. The kid in the cart is playing with a can of spray paint.

I know what happens next before it happens.

The two year-old takes the lid off of the can and in doing so sprays black paint all over his face. Screaming, he drops the can to the floor where it spins around on its side like one of those pinwheel fireworks, spraying black paint instead of sparks everywhere, because its nozzle is broken.

Now the woman and both her children are screaming and crying. The store manager appears, and disables the can. Someone yells, “Call 911!”

I go over to offer help. I’m wearing scrubs, and identify myself as a nurse. The two year-old is crying, but otherwise he’s not in visible distress. Most of the paint is on his chin and neck. Little was ingested, but I don’t know if inhaled fumes are dangerous or not.

I tell the store manager, “Call the poison control center number printed on the side of the can. They can advise us what to do.” The grocery store has a pharmacy, and if Poison Control advises vomiting, I figure Ipecac is probably available. My own phone is in my car.

The store manager stares at me blankly.

Turning my attention to the two children and their mother, I try to calm them. This turns out to be impossible. They continue to scream and cry.

Then a man runs up informing us that he has called 911.

By now a small group of people have gathered and are staring.

Relieved, I hear the sirens of the fire truck bringing the paramedics as it pulls into the parking lot.

I roll my cart to the checkout line. There’s nothing more I can do.

I overhear one of the paramedics ask as he arrives on the scene, “Has anyone contacted Poison Control?”

Sigh.