My mom has always told me that there are some things in life that she doesn’t need to know about me or hear from me. I have a general idea of what those things are- but sometimes I give my mom “too much information” just to see her reaction and other times I get too excited to filter my stories. Two weeks ago I got excited about something that happened at work and remarked “omg- I can’t believe I haven’t told my mom yet!” One of my SD moms turned to me in disbelief and said, “oh no you don’t- you can’t tell your mom this now! You gotta give it the 4 month rule!” She went on to explain that for this story (and a lot of the ones I bless my mom with!) I should wait 4 months before sharing them with my mom so the events are enough in the past that my mom won’t worry as much. I like the 4 month rule- it’s fair. It makes sense. But I can’t wait.
Two weeks ago I was finishing up my evening shift at work, literally counting down the last 90 seconds of my 13 hour day. 90. 89. 87. getting excited. 86. 85. hope my ride is here. 84. 83. 82. oh shit. A man came bursting in through the clinic doors saying something about an emergency. Something about a stab wound. Something about blood. Something about needing a nurse. It took me a minute until I realized, “Shit, I’m a nurse!” And so I grabbed a pair of gloves and the other RN on duty, and with the clinic emergency bag we went out into the night to find this stab victim. We didn’t have to go too far- he was flat on his back about 5 feet in front of the clinic doors with his girlfriend crying over his still body. Blood was pooled on his belt and waist. His shirt was drenched and more blood dripped down his legs. Funny thing is (okay, not so funny)- it didn’t dawn on either of us that if a man was just stabbed, then somewhere close by was a person who just stabbed him- our main concern was not knowing what to do for a stab wound. The other RN and I looked at each other- not only do I HATE ER nursing, I have all of three months experience as an RN. The other RN has about 25 years of nursing experience, but in pediatrics.
The man was barely responsive. His eyes were closing. We lifted up his shirt to see the wound. He had two raw stab wounds on his abdomen. Pressure- he needed pressure. Our emergency kit didn’t have any gauze or cloth. Thank God a doctor was running out of the clinic donning gloves.
All of the sudden the man started pushing me off of him. “PEEEEEEE. I have to (insert profanity here) pee now. Let me get up.”
We tried to talk him out of it- clearly, with two stab wounds to the abdomen, getting up wouldn’t be the best choice- but this man (he was like 22 years old) wouldn’t have it. He insisted on getting up and storming to the bathroom, at which time we noticed a third (or 4th) stab wound to his back. The doctor took off his gloves mumbling about what a “(curse word) asshole” the stab victim was for getting up while he was bleeding into his abdomen. The ambulance showed up while the man was still in the bathroom- and when he returned, he turned to his girlfriend and literally stuck his tongue down her throat. It was quite possibly the most inappropriate make-out session ever, with a doctor, two nurses, EMTs, village security and SD police looking on. When he determined his make-out session was complete, the man turned and climbed into the ambulance and took off for the hospital.
When relaying this story to the nurses aids who stayed inside during the ordeal, they commented “must have been damn good drugs he had.” (going into the bathroom to take out his stash, then passing his stash off to his girlfriend during the kiss…ohh sheltered and naive me).
As the doctor said, it was the most bizarre series of events ever. Even two minutes after it happened I doubted whether it was real or not- this man literally was dying, came back to life to pee and make-out then climbed into the ambulance. Was that pool of blood not his? Were those wounds not real? Wow. It was a long night (and extremely long day!) to say the least.
The next day I was asked if I had recovered yet from my PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder). I had to ask from what- I had COMPLETELY forgotten about the events that took place the night before- and I had completely forgotten to tell my mom!! …then the 4 month countdown began. And lasted two weeks. Sorry mom!! Work is safe, I swear!
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funny you should tell this story. And I will tell you why.
ReplyDeleteToday, while hanging laundry, I recounted the story of a lost wallet that turned up on the street in front of the clinic, and the disgust in someone's voice for the doubt and worry that her parents suffered through while the girl with the lost wallet 3,000 miles away from home went looking for that wallet. By herself. At night. In the dark.
The parent, feeling guilty for not trusting the everyday people of SD, today while hanging that laundry, started to think that maybe this child wasn't in such a bad area, that the people who live in that area are ok people who are just down on their luck? After all, would the Augustinians place young adults in harm's way? Maybe that parent needs to take a trip to see for herself where the kids live and work?
Hmmm...then you turn up with a story like this.
The 4 month rule is a good idea, but two weeks works for me, too.
I know someone who kept her parents in the dark for YEARS about a few things. She needed time to process them? or get the nerve up to talk to her parents? I am not sure, but that must have been hard on her parents to find out years later that their child was suffering.