It’s a good thing people are harder to kill than I thought in my nursing student days. In my first few weeks, I thought I’d killed several. My first great scare was in my first day on a clinical unit. I was assigned to give a bed bath to a poor old lady who’d had a leg amputation. I did NOT want to give that woman, or any patient for that matter, a bath in the bed or otherwise. Of course we’d practiced bed baths in the lab till we were sick of it. I dreaded clinical that day, knowing bed bathing would not be put off any longer. I gathered my supplies, a bed pad, two sheets, a mattress cover, four bath cloths, four towels and a blanket. In the room I introduced myself to the patient and bumbled around till I came up with gloves, a basin of warm water, soap, toothbrush, tooth paste, mouthwash, and lotion. God forbid, I was expected to do mouth care, too.
Done properly, a bed bath and bed change can be accomplished in minutes. I believe I probably tormented that poor woman the better part of two hours. I won’t bore you with the details but I slopped water all over the patient, the bed, myself, and the floor before I was finally through. I left her wet, uncovered, and freezing, I am sure. Finally I labored long enough to get her in a clean gown and do mouth care. I was so relieved to be through when she looked at me with sad eyes and said. “You put my gown on inside out.”
Sure enough, it was. Hopefully I suggested, “You don’t want me to change it, do you?”
“Yes.” she moaned.
I wanted to argue, but knew I had it to do. I worked till I got it fixed, but snatched her IV out in the process. I hadn’t gotten to the point I could start IVs, so my nursing instructor had to do it. She was not happy.
Not long after I escaped from her room, her family returned. The doctor made rounds with the head nurse. They all came came out with their heads together. I was sure they were all discussing the horrible bath I’d given. I had no idea they’d be able to tell. I was mortified. Fortunately, that was not the problem, but it was an awful day.
Mr. Henry was the one admitted as a patient, but the nurses took care of Miss Alice, too. Mr. Henry had to have been in his late forties when he married simple-minded little Miss Alice, a girl of fourteen. Nowadays, that would have been a case for the courts, but when it happened back in the sixties, there was no one to speak for Miss Alice. They’d been married more than thirty years when I knew them and appeared to dote on each other. Miss Alice never voluntarily left his side, except to go down to the courtyard to bum cigarettes from patients and staff smoking in the long ago days when hospitals had smoking areas. Sometimes she even talked folks out of a little money. After a successful run, she’d bring a couple back up to him to smoke in the room. Miss Alice ended almost every conversation with, “I…
Nutsrok 