Sometimes, it seems like I work in a psychatric hospital rather than a medical hospital. Some of the things we see here are just...well, they're beyond words.
~ A patient told a nurse who went to check on him: "I'm manic! You better back the f*ck up!"
~ A patient called me 6 times over the weekend, filling up my voicemail. She left these long, rambling messages about how she needed to talk to the President because she couldn't find her book and only Obama would know where it was.
~ A patient painted the walls with his poop.
~ A patient refuses to take "real" medication, preferring his herbal medications. He claims they work better. His ejection fraction (the percentage of blood pumped out of the heart with each beat) is 20%. In a healthy individual, it's around 65%. Clearly, his herbs are not working.
~ A patient claims he can't afford to purchase his medications ($4 each at Target). In his room, he has an iPhone, new Nikes, and he came in stinking of booze and positive for cocaine. Priorities, much?!
~ A patient is ready for discharge. Her family takes a cab to get here to accompany her. They demand a cab voucher for the ride home.
~ A patient continues to have heart attacks and chest pain. He comes in about once a month. Each time, he's positive for cocaine. He wants a new heart. Umm...quit snorting coke!
~ A patient swallowed a bunch of coins because she thought it would make her rich.
~ A patient was brought in by the police. They found him wandering around on I-95. He was looking for his sheep.
Say what I want about my job, at least it gives me some stories to tell!