get him a prescription for pain meds to go home with, make it Percocet 20.
this was my assignment. and this is how it was carried out.
i am awesome. i think to myself as i stroll toward North 7B Nurses station. Reason #1 why I am awesome: I got lost for only 30 minutes, managing to make it to work in under one hour today. Reason #2 why I am awesome: I just successfully drew a CBC. By. My. Self. (nevermind this skill was in the objectives for first year of medical school) So I walk my bomb dot com self over to an open computer and begin to find the computerized prescription pad and search "PERCOCET". uh. wow. There's like 50,000 PERCOCET choices here. ok wait what EXACTLY did he mean by 20. um, was it the milligrams. No. that is definitely not an option here. Was it the dispense number? No. that makes no sense. Hmm. I'm not sure. So as I sit there for 30 minutes debating Percocet 2.5 vs. 5 vs. 7.5 vs vs vs vs vs, I notice the patient's large scary Bronx style nurse growing increasingly agitated at my procrastination. I can't ask the resident again, I'll look like a fool. I decide to call life line. "Dad, I need to know what you give your patients for post-op pain meds." He proceeds to suggest medications they haven't offered in the Bronx for decades. Thanks. Ok, just pick something. Percocet 5. Lets go with it. And...I vaguely remember something about q4, so we'll go with that. and yeah, lets give him enough for a week...or a month? Ahhhh. Ok lets just do 30 tabs, right? Yeah ok. And hit Print and Yes. I am so awesome. I gaze over at the prescription printer and notice it seems to be printing quite a few prescriptions. I do my cool walk over to the machine to take a look at one of the slips of paper. Percocet 5-325mg q4h PRN Pain. Dispense 3,000 tabs. NOOOOOOOO...... Oh no oh no. That is incorrect. Very incorrect. I rush back to the computer to change the dosing. Ok what is happening here?Why won't it stop printing? Oh shit balls. I suddenly look down in the bottom right corner of the screen. I'd completed the task too quickly. Become too confident in my swagger. Not only was the patient going to receive 3,000 Percocet tabs. But i'd also have 3,000 copies of this prescription to offer him at discharge. Redfaced and horrified, I began manhandling the printer with my kung fu elbow punches, drawing the attention of the majority of the large scary Bronx nurses. Minutes and minutes and minutes later, the machine finally surrenders and I begin shoveling Percocet prescriptions into the itty bitty HIPAA hole. Yeah. I am awesome.
Peace out,
E
Monday, July 6, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
beep. beep. beep. beep. beep.
well guys... one day down, 1,824 to go...minus one for leap year. so 1,823. damn. thats a long damn time..
anyhow, my update from the Bronx goes as follows... Last week I arrived at orientation to find myself in a room full of approximately 400 Varun Khanna look alike residents. This being my own personal nightmare was not exactly the bright start to the morning that i'd hoped for. But I proceeded to fill out ridiculous paperwork and life insurance policies (turns out i'm not even worth enough to leave anything in my dogs name). So blah blah blah. That day lasted flipping forever and I was just so so ready to go home at 2pm when I got to my car and realized that due to the India style overpopulation of the Bronx borough they are choosing to parallel park hundreds of cars behind parked cars on ramps of the parking garage. As my volvo was one of these parked cars, I of course become insanely pissed and attempt to track down a parking official who explains to me that i'll just have to hurry up and wait because in order to move that nasty van blockcocking me I will have to march his ass way up into the hospital and find the owner and his keys. AARRRRRGGGHHHH. So that took 45 minutes and it was approximately 3pm when I maneuvered myself onto the Henry Hudson Parkway (my ticket back down to Manhattan). This is when the story turns super sour because this is when I realize that New York City rush hour traffic starts at 8am and lasts til 10pm. This turns out to be a superbitch. So after an hour spent in what I would describe as strikingly similar to that scene in Armageddon where everyone in the world tries to drive out of the world at the same time...I finally inch my way toward my bridge out of the Bronx. Unlucky for me I have no flipping compass in this flipping car, thus causing me to go west instead of east on this incredibly crucial bridge, thus causing me to drive 20 minutes into New Jersey before realizing my fate. And so, at 6pm I arrived home and had myself an upset martini. Balls.
And as for today, July 1,...well lets just say it started with a meet and greet welcome breakfast in the ENT department. I of course was already donning my ironed white coat (oh who am I kidding, I didn't iron it) and spiffy pager. As the attendings and residents mingled quietly in the room, all of our conversations slowly turned to the incessant sound resounding in the room...beep. beep. beep. beep.... Suddenly the chief resident points to me and my little pager and says, "Elena, uh, thats you." And thats when the whole room erupts in laughter and I exit red and hot and red and hot. Ugh. The horror.
And the day only got better as I was trailed by two medical students in yamikas who knew more about ENT today than I'll know in 1,824 days. I was reminded of this when I attempted to renew an order of Coumadin for a Mr. X on our list. Where was the old order, why can't I find it, I keep asking myself and the yamikas and the nurses? Quietly one of the yamikas leans forward and whispers, "Isn't the Coumadin for Mr. Y, not Mr X.?" Yes yamika, you are right. Thank you. And FML.
much love,
e
anyhow, my update from the Bronx goes as follows... Last week I arrived at orientation to find myself in a room full of approximately 400 Varun Khanna look alike residents. This being my own personal nightmare was not exactly the bright start to the morning that i'd hoped for. But I proceeded to fill out ridiculous paperwork and life insurance policies (turns out i'm not even worth enough to leave anything in my dogs name). So blah blah blah. That day lasted flipping forever and I was just so so ready to go home at 2pm when I got to my car and realized that due to the India style overpopulation of the Bronx borough they are choosing to parallel park hundreds of cars behind parked cars on ramps of the parking garage. As my volvo was one of these parked cars, I of course become insanely pissed and attempt to track down a parking official who explains to me that i'll just have to hurry up and wait because in order to move that nasty van blockcocking me I will have to march his ass way up into the hospital and find the owner and his keys. AARRRRRGGGHHHH. So that took 45 minutes and it was approximately 3pm when I maneuvered myself onto the Henry Hudson Parkway (my ticket back down to Manhattan). This is when the story turns super sour because this is when I realize that New York City rush hour traffic starts at 8am and lasts til 10pm. This turns out to be a superbitch. So after an hour spent in what I would describe as strikingly similar to that scene in Armageddon where everyone in the world tries to drive out of the world at the same time...I finally inch my way toward my bridge out of the Bronx. Unlucky for me I have no flipping compass in this flipping car, thus causing me to go west instead of east on this incredibly crucial bridge, thus causing me to drive 20 minutes into New Jersey before realizing my fate. And so, at 6pm I arrived home and had myself an upset martini. Balls.
And as for today, July 1,...well lets just say it started with a meet and greet welcome breakfast in the ENT department. I of course was already donning my ironed white coat (oh who am I kidding, I didn't iron it) and spiffy pager. As the attendings and residents mingled quietly in the room, all of our conversations slowly turned to the incessant sound resounding in the room...beep. beep. beep. beep.... Suddenly the chief resident points to me and my little pager and says, "Elena, uh, thats you." And thats when the whole room erupts in laughter and I exit red and hot and red and hot. Ugh. The horror.
And the day only got better as I was trailed by two medical students in yamikas who knew more about ENT today than I'll know in 1,824 days. I was reminded of this when I attempted to renew an order of Coumadin for a Mr. X on our list. Where was the old order, why can't I find it, I keep asking myself and the yamikas and the nurses? Quietly one of the yamikas leans forward and whispers, "Isn't the Coumadin for Mr. Y, not Mr X.?" Yes yamika, you are right. Thank you. And FML.
much love,
e
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