Last night was a busy night. Along with the usual changing and replacing gurneys, I do my best to make the workload easier for the nurses and other staff. Sometimes, it seems like a battle to relieve boredom between the volunteers: me, and the technicians. They are allowed to do more with patients than I am as a volunteer. They also have more training than I do, but even if I were a physician, if I were taking on this volunteer role theoretically, I couldn’t use my stethoscope, or even wheel a patient in a wheelchair without supervision. Because of the limited medical duties that volunteers and technicians are allowed, changing gurneys can be a panacea against boredom. I met one of the techs at the linen bin, and she got two sheets and handed me one, I got two pillow cases and handed her one. Then, I got two gowns which I shared and she shared two blankets. “I sure hope we aren’t going to the same bed.” We weren’t.
The high point last night was taking care of an older patient. I’ll call him Ted. He was well over 80 but frankly looked 10 years younger. He was in continuous pain. His kidney had shut down five months earlier and been on dialysis since. He had lost one kidney 60 years earlier, so I suppose the one that had recently stopped functioning didn’t really owe him anything. Apparently, they won’t perform transplants when you are in your 80s. I imagine the body just won’t respond well to such invasive surgery. I also imagine that the expected lifetime for the patient is somewhat limited. Ted was dying for some water. The nurse agreed he could have two glasses. I don’t know that a man coming out of a week in a desert could appreciate water as much as Ted enjoyed his two glasses. Apparently, his kidney is not completely shut down, yet because he is still able to pee a little. Once there is complete renal failure, one would not be able to urinate. This means that the bodies ability to regulate BP and blood volume would be severely limited, not to mention the obvious removal of urea from the body.
Ted seemed to enjoy our conversation, but every 5 or 10 minutes, he would say how difficult it was to talk. First, we’d sit in silence, or I’d leave for a half an hour or so to check on other duties, but eventually, I realized that he mainly seemed to have to say he couldn’t talk, because within a minute, he’d start up again regardless of the pain. Poor man was lonely. His back bothered him the most, and I was able to help him with that. We positioned the bed so that it bent in the natural bend at his waist, and I propped a pillow under his knees to relieve the pressure. After that, he stopped complaining about his back hurting. It is amazing to me how a little common sense can make the difference in the comfort of patients.
A joy in volunteering in the ER is that I have the time for patients that nurses and physicians may not have to converse and provide the comfort of human to human contact and conversation.
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