Confessions of a Male Nurse

by Michael Alexander

  I’d never been so relieved to see the police as I was then. It turned out they were so delayed getting here because they had all gone to the scene of the stabbing, which was at the other end of town. Thankfully our town was small enough for a stabbing to still be a big deal.

  The police did a good job; they kept calm, ignored the abuse hurled at them and slowly managed to herd the crowd out of the department, with surprisingly (and thankfully) little hassle.

  At that moment, resuscitation was stopped. All those who had taken turns jumping up and down doing compressions were particularly relieved; it’s tiring work. The boy was taken to the morgue and we never saw the family again. Everyone was physically and emotionally drained, but, of course, there was no time to rest, as there were more patients still to see.

  There had been one other man in resus when the commotion broke out. It was 86-year-old Mr Ripley, a regular patient who came in when his breathing got bad. He and his wife had been witness to the whole scenario. I didn’t know what to say; perhaps I should’ve told him that this was not a typical Saturday night.

  Mr Ripley was a veteran of the Second World War. He and his wife had been vulnerable. In all the mayhem I had forgotten about them. I cannot imagine what it would be like to face an enemy on the battlefield, but he had every reason to be as frightened as I was this night, as he sat there helpless, frail and ill, watching the madness, with no way to escape, with his wife sitting beside him. He was of course terrified for her, too.

  He made a remark which I’ll never forget: ‘I’ve survived the war; seen my comrades die around me; charged machine guns; but I’ve never been as frightened as I was tonight.’

  I never found out the full or true story of what happened that night, just what I read in the newspaper. It began as a family party with a few close friends. The victim had had a disagreement over a real or imagined insult about a girlfriend. The murderer was a teenage friend, who is now spending his days behind bars. The father ended up in court, although I never found out what the outcome was.

  Security was increased after that incident, which meant two security guards instead of one.

  As for me, well, I did just have a knife waved in my direction, but it was a busy Saturday night; there was no talk of time off or counselling. I kept on working, along with everyone else.

  Full moon

  The previous two nights had been the busiest I’d seen in the whole year. We had a record number of drunken teenagers, a worrying number of assaults, six overdoses and five GDGAPWs, which stands for: got drunk, got angry, punched wall. The W can also be substituted for window.

  As I pulled into work on the third evening, I wasn’t greeted with the most encouraging of sights. Four ambulances were fighting to offload their burden and two police cars took up the last of the parking spaces; I felt like turning around. To make matters worse, there was a full moon in the sky. If I had noticed that before I had left home, I might have been tempted to call in sick. It was going to be a very interesting night.

  ‘Evening all; looks like the madmen will be out in full force tonight,’ I said by way of greeting.

  ‘Too late, they’re out already,’ said Trish.

  Trish had been on with me for the last two nights. She looked tired, and was showing the typical signs of someone at the end of a six-night run. She was a touch more cynical, a tad more sarcastic, and a wee bit short tempered. She was the lucky one, because I still had another two nights in front of me. My other partner in crime that night was Amber. This was Amber’s first time on night shift.

  She smiled appropriately at our comments, as any new junior member of staff should, but I could tell she was not a believer.

  ‘It’s true, the full moon really does affect people,’ I added. ‘By the time the night is through you will see for yourself.’

  I’ve never found any scientific evidence to substantiate the belief that the full moon affects people, but I have heard that some places provide an extra nurse when it’s a full moon. I’ve even heard of some police departments deploying more officers.

  My first patient for the evening was Mr Jones, one of our frequent flyers. His complaint was always the same: chest pain.

  For some reason, Mr Jones’s chest pain got miraculously better every time the paramedics wheeled him through the front door.

  It’s quite possible Mr Jones never had much chest pain to begin with. That type of patient isn’t an unusual sight; there are many people in the community who are just in need of some company or reassurance.

  Before I could begin assessing Mr Jones, we heard raised voices and cursing. It was coming from next door in minor injuries.

  ‘Fuck the lot of ya’ – it was a woman’s voice – ‘you’re all bloody useless.’

  I didn’t want to investigate, but I made my way next door to see if anyone needed a hand. I walked in to find Amber trying to calm down an irate giant of a woman. She must have been six foot three inches tall, at least, and I estimated she weighed at least 130 kilograms. She had covered her flesh in a fluffy nightgown; it was pink with a white trim, and decorated with flowers.

  ‘What’re you staring at, ya little pervert?’ she asked.

  ‘This is Miss Turner. She won’t wait to be seen,’ Amber explained.

  ‘I’m bloody sick and nobody believes me.’

  The woman stank of beer and spirits. She wasn’t sick; she was drunk.

  ‘We believe you, we believe you,’ said Amber, trying her best to placate the giant, ‘but there are others sicker than you. You’re going to have to wait.’

  The woman conceded and sat back down on the bed.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it, Amber. Give me a yell if you need a hand,’ I said and headed back next door.

  ‘You can’t please them all,’ said Mr Jones, as I prepared to jab a needle into a bulging vein on his right forearm.

  ‘You mean the commotion next door?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I’ve given up trying to. I’ve learnt that some people cannot be reasoned with,’ I added, sliding the needle into his vein. ‘I imagine I haven’t heard the last yelling and screaming tonight.’

  ‘They come out of the woodwork on nights like these. The full moon can drive a man mad. Stay inside and lock the door,’ Mr Jones advised.

  That sounded like a great idea to me, but unfortunately hospitals tend to have an open door policy, and anyway, it had already begun…

  ‘Someone get security, hurry,’ came Amber’s voice from beyond the wall.

  ‘Be right back,’ I told Mr Jones and rushed out. I needn’t have been worried; well, at least not about Amber’s safety.

  ‘Put it back on, please, Miss Turner,’ Amber pleaded as she tried to wrap a sheet around her patient.

  Miss Turner was standing beside her bed completely naked. Her pink dressing gown was lying on the floor next to a far too small hospital nightgown.

  ‘I’m not wearing a fucking sheet. If you can’t find anything to fit me, I’ll wear fucking nothing.’

  The wisest thing to have done at that moment would have been to look away, but my eyes kept being drawn to the multiple loose folds of hanging flesh. It was like a scene from ‘Ripley’s Believe It or Not’, when you know they are about to show you something gruesome, but your morbid curiosity gets the better of you.

  ‘Fucking pervert,’ Miss Turner yelled, and made her way towards me.

  I was about to be assaulted by a gigantic, intoxicated, naked woman. I briefly thought back to my nursing college days, and tried to remember what they taught you to do in a situation like this. I began to back out of the room, while looking around for some help.

  ‘Hurry up and get security, Amber,’ I called out.

  ‘I’m here already,’ said a voice behind me.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see Jamie.

  ‘I’m not fucking scared of you,’ yelled Miss Turner at us. We did not doubt her. She continued to advance, while we men continued to retreat.

  ‘You ne
ed to put some clothes on, Miss Turner,’ said Jamie.

  Good old Jamie, keeping it practical as always.

  ‘Miss Turner, if you don’t put your clothes back on we’ll have to call the police,’ I explained, but this seemed to enrage her more than anything else.

  ‘Fuck the pigs. I’m fucking sick and you’re fucking with me. And now you’re gonna call the pigs.’

  I never got a chance to call the police because she chose this moment to make a run at Jamie and me. We split up, giving each of us a 50 per cent chance of survival, but thankfully she charged straight past us and out into the main corridor of the hospital.

  ‘I’ve never seen so much flesh move so fast in my life,’ said Jamie.

  ‘I never realised it could bounce around so much,’ I replied. ‘She’s all yours, Jamie. Good luck.’

  ‘You’ve got to be bloody joking. How the hell am I going to stop that? She only has to sit on me and that would be my end.’

  He had a point. He really didn’t stand a chance.

  ‘At least follow her. Try to stop her from entering any of the wards and I’ll call the police.’

  Again, I never got a chance to call the police. At that moment an ambulance crew turned up with a teenage girl clutching her stomach and hysterical with pain.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ I asked.

  She didn’t say a word, but just screamed louder, all the time rocking back and forth clutching her stomach.

  ‘She said she is having a miscarriage,’ Tim, the head paramedic, answered for her. ‘But she won’t let any of us examine her. We don’t have any obs. We haven’t checked for any bleeding. Anytime we try to do something, she screams a little louder. She said she only wants a woman to see her.’

  ‘Amber, can I leave her with you?’

  Amber may have been new to the emergency room, but she was still an experienced nurse and I knew she could handle one hysterical 16-year-old girl.

  ‘No problem.’ She sounded almost relieved to have a somewhat normal patient, with a normal problem, or at least so we thought. I returned to my original patient, Mr Jones. I had a funny suspicion he was relishing the live entertainment.

  ‘Cripes, mate; it’s not every day you see something like that. Heck, I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s the younger generation, no respect for anything. Such a big lass as well. I wouldn’t want to cross her.’

  I smothered a smile at his comment – it certainly wasn’t the first time I’d heard the older generation lamenting the faults of the young – as Miss Blake, the miscarriage patient, was wheeled past us by Amber.

  Trish was standing by and helped Amber place Miss Blake in the bed opposite Mr Jones.

  ‘Poor little thing, what’s wrong with her? You better go see to her,’ Mr Jones advised me.

  Miss Lisa Blake was a tiny looking little thing. She looked at least two or three years younger than 16.

  ‘She’s in good hands, Mr Jones. Trish and Amber will sort her out.’

  As I examined Mr Jones, I could hear everything that Trish and the young girl had to say.

  ‘I’m bleeding; I’m losing the baby,’ sobbed Lisa. ‘Oh the pain, please help me. Please help my baby.’

  Trish remained calm. In fact, glancing up I’d have said she looked almost bored.

  ‘Before we can help you, we will need a urine sample. I’ll show you where the bathroom is.’

  ‘You want me to pee! I’m in pain. Oh…’ Lisa clutched her arms around her midsection and began rocking back and forth.

  But Trish was not going to budge, and five minutes later, Lisa limped back into the room and handed her urine sample to Trish before crawling back on to the bed.

  Trish wasted no time testing the urine.

  ‘I’ve got some good news for you, Lisa,’ said Trish. ‘You’re not going to lose your baby. Your test was negative: you’re not pregnant. And you don’t have to worry about bleeding either. There was only a small trace of blood in your urine. You’re going to be fine.’

  Lisa seemed to have completely forgotten about her pain; she had stopped clutching her stomach and ceased her rocking.

  ‘It’s not true. I am pregnant. The test is wrong. I’m in pain.’

  Trish stood, unmoved.

  Lisa stood up and walked out of the department, without a word or even a glance behind her.

  ‘I told you Trish knows what she’s doing,’ I said to Mr Jones.

  With Mr Jones pain free, his blood samples taken, and observations all up to date, it was time to turn my attention elsewhere. Because there were fewer nurses on during the night shift, you ended up working in all areas of the emergency room. Our department had four areas: minor injuries; moderate illness and injuries; four resuscitation beds for the most serious patients; and triage. With no other patients in resus, I went in search of Amber to see how she was coping. I found her at the front desk.

  ‘Thank goodness you’re here. It’s turned into a madhouse,’ Amber said, gesturing to the full waiting room. With all our time being taken up with Lisa and Miss Turner, the room had been rapidly filling up; people were even sitting on the floor.

  ‘How much longer do we have to wait?’ asked a middle-aged woman, who went on to introduce herself as Mrs Kelley. ‘We’ve been here hours. This is ridiculous. I demand that something be done.’

  Mrs Kelley was with her 18-year-old son. He had been out on the town and become involved in what was probably his first punch-up. From the look of him he had a broken nose.

  ‘Probably quite a while longer yet,’ I replied. ‘You should take your son home and get some rest. There is nothing we can do for him tonight,’ I added.

  I wasn’t in the mood for diplomacy, and this was completely true. There is nothing you can do immediately for a broken nose, even if it is out of shape; you have to wait for the swelling to go down.

  Most people in the waiting room seemed to be enjoying the distraction. But I could see Mrs Kelley’s hackles rising.

  ‘I demand to be seen immediately or I will be writing to the papers.’

  I don’t respond well to the word demand and nor do most nurses I know, but I made one more attempt at being polite before turning to address the patient list. ‘We have some other patients who need to be seen first.’ I turned and walked away, leaving Mrs Kelley to ponder about her potential moment in the media.

  Then I heard something surprising. Something I’d never heard before in a hospital, and to this day haven’t heard since; I heard singing.

  ‘Why are we waiting? Why are we waiting?’

  It started with Mrs Kelley, but soon other voices joined in. Amber and Trish joined me in the corridor, stunned at what was going on before us.

  ‘Has this ever happened before?’ I asked Trish.

  ‘This is a first for me. I feel like I’m in a Monty Python film,’ she replied.

  ‘What do we do?’ Amber asked.

  ‘Leave them,’ Trish said. ‘They will soon get sick and tired—’

  ‘Help!’ yelled Jamie from afar. ‘She’s bloody mad. I can’t stop her.’

  It was coming from behind the waiting room. We rushed out past the singing crowd and into the main hospital corridor to find Jamie being chased by Miss Turner. She was like a rampaging bull, huge, unstoppable and terrifying when provoked.

  Jamie reached us, and we tried to form a human barrier.

  ‘Oh shit, she’s not stopping,’ Jamie and I blurted out in unison.

  At least the singing had stopped. The crowd of onlookers in the waiting room had gathered around behind us to see the spectacle. I don’t know if they actually thought we could stop this giant pink-slippered woman before she reached them, but there was no way I was going to risk life and limb.

  We sidestepped just in time.

  Miss Turner collided with the crowd, taking out at least half a dozen onlookers before losing her balance.

  If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed what had just happened. All we could do was l
augh. I’ve never seen a waiting room emptied so quickly. Even Mrs Kelley and her son didn’t wait to be seen.

  Miss Turner never got to see a doctor; she soon decided to put her clothes back on, and disappeared into the night.

  That was four hours of my shift over with, only four more to go.

  Russell

  ‘So how do you like our little hospital?’ I asked Russell on a rare, quiet afternoon in the emergency room.

  ‘Ach, she’s grand, mate. Plenty of action, if ya know what I mean.’

  Dr Russell McDonald was our local Scottish import. He had come to New Zealand with one stated purpose.

  ‘I’m gonna fook me way around the world,’ Russell had been known to confess to the lads when he’d had a bit too much to drink. ‘The lasses here are different to home. At home, if a lass likes ya she’ll shag ya, but over here, even if they don’t like ya, they’ll shag ya anyway. It’s great.’

  Needless to say, Russell was great for company whenever social occasions arose. And it was probably because he was such a laugh that whenever he fooked up at work, he rarely got in as much trouble as he should have.

  Russell had mainly worked in medical wards, where things tend to be slower and more predictable; the things Russell was used to dealing with were the typical problems that make up the bulk of hospital medical admissions, such as the elderly and the difficulties that go along with ageing, from failing lungs, failing hearts, to strokes. It’s not exactly exciting like the emergency room, but general medicine like this makes up the backbone of any junior doctor’s experience.

  Russell also had some experience working in the other areas. All doctors, in both New Zealand and the UK, have to spend some time in each of the main areas of specialisation. The common areas are surgery, paediatrics, obstetrics & gynaecology and orthopaedics. Of course, each of these general fields has many subcategories.

  Russell had been working in our hospital for just over a year, six months in general surgery, six months in general medicine, and now the emergency department.

  As entertaining as his remarks about wanting to sleep his way around the world were, I wanted a serious answer.