The words were scrambled, slurred, and sparsely spaced. She didn’t make sense, she couldn’t communicate. When she spoke, she just spit syllables.
I couldn’t diagnose her dilemma, but I suspected stroke. In fear for her life, I called the rapid response team.
Once they arrived, they took over. And shortly after, she was in surgery.
As soon as she left the floor, I discovered my mistake. I’d mistakenly entered the wrong room at the right time.
The patient I checked shouldn’t have been checked at all; she wasn’t diabetic.
We Have Movement
The patient was, as I suspected, supine. The patient’s body was flaccid, limp, and heavy. She’d been like this for weeks, if not months.
It was impossible for her to turn, move, and transfer without help. She was, it seemed, tied to the earth.
Whilst standing at the COW, movement caught my eye. When I turned, my patient’s arm was airborne. It wasn’t fixed by her side anymore; she had, by some power unbeknownst to me, moved.
In awe, she turned and looked at me. She yelped, “It works.” While smiling, she lifted her arm, twisted her wrist, and pumped her fist. It was a moment I’ll never forget.