Whew

Whew and whew again. Sometimes I wonder why I do what I do. Did I really sign up to deal with exploding urine bags? And let's not forget the exploding poo. Lots and lots of exploding poo. And a patient who knows no English, is highly confused, just had brain surgery, is connected to every type of tube and cord imaginable, has to go to the bathroom and so decides it's okay to get out of bed; with every cord and tube being pulled to its breaking point. "Esperar! Esperar!" I shout, the only bits of Spanish I know coming from deep within the recesses of my brain. Ah yes, I see the problem, exploding poo, okay, gloves on, "Come and help me please!" I shout into the hall. Four nurses come running, you don't ignore a plea for help in the ICU. We push pull and drag the poor man to the toilet, tubes and all. "Sit down!" "Don't pull!" "Don't touch!" we all yell in English. "Ah, su madre! Su madre!" is all he says. He's like a deer caught in some well meaning headlights. Later, through an interpreter, he complains "I'm sick, and everyone just yells at me all the time. Don't they know that I'm sick? I'm going back to Mexico." Ah Mexico. I'd like to go there too, if only to escape the exploding fecal matter.