Sunday, October 30, 2011
that's me at the triage window
I watch you walk in and see how you approach me. Are you shuffling? Are you frantic? Do you have to stop to rest on the way? When you get to the window do you go into excruciating detail going back five years about why you are here? Do I have to pull what's wrong with you out of you? Are you hanging over the desk in a dramatic fashion? Are you pale, sweating? Short of breath? Did you come alone? Do you come with a posse? Do you immediately ask me how long the wait is? Do I need to run you right back? Are you accompanied by the police? In handcuffs?
I will have a pretty good sense of the seriousness of your condition and what kind of person you are before you even come through the triage door. After about a year in ER you are pretty much an expert on the human race and all its quirks and personalities. I can go into a room and take one look at you and sum up how sick you really are.
You might think that sounds unfair. I am not giving you a chance. Its reality. I have to be able to sum you up quickly. If I can't tell if you are real or fake, a wimp or really sick, I'm not doing my job. I am the first one to see you. I have to develop an instinct for people. If I don't you might die. If I assess you in your room and you are in trouble and I don't intervene immediately or call the doctor, you probably going to go down the toilet.
When people come to the hospital, often they concentrate on the doctor: when can I see the doctor? Where is the doctor? You really should be concentrating on me because I'm the one who will prevent you or your loved one from deteriorating. I'm the one who spends the time with you, monitors you, trusts my gut when dealing with you. Your life is really in my hands. Especially if you really have an emergency.
Posted by girlvet at 3:21 PM