<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886234946381522392</id><updated>2012-02-16T07:03:33.381-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Nurz Saz and the PICU</title><subtitle type='html'>Stories from my past adventures in PICU nursing</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Saz</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7548/3112/1600/sazsfview.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>16</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886234946381522392.post-375234817355132799</id><published>2007-06-22T00:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-22T11:48:57.243-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Confrontational Surgeons</title><content type='html'>When I was in the peds cardiac ICU, there was a surgeon who seemed to&lt;br /&gt;have particular joy in making nurses tense and everyone jump when he&lt;br /&gt;came storming into to room. Even when everything was fine he was really&lt;br /&gt;aggressive at getting answers met. When things were bad, he was far&lt;br /&gt;worse. Imagine already having really high adrenaline levels and&lt;br /&gt;sweating to do everything you can to save this child's life and then&lt;br /&gt;this tall man walks in yelling at you and everyone else in the room! I&lt;br /&gt;remember him standing over me literally so close that I had to crane my&lt;br /&gt;neck up to maintain eye contact while he fed me 20 questions and&lt;br /&gt;feeling my heart in my throat. I tried to leave the room and he&lt;br /&gt;followed right behind me continuing to talk at me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only one nurse seemed to know how to deal with him and that was because she was&lt;br /&gt;much older than him, had many more years of experience and was very, very New&lt;br /&gt;York - Brooklyn even. She talked right back to him as if he was being&lt;br /&gt;ridiculous, while showing she was obviously on top of the situation, "so&lt;br /&gt;why was he so stressed out?" He liked it. I took notes. I was not any of&lt;br /&gt;the three things she was, but I could display confidence around him and&lt;br /&gt;let him know I was on top of the situation he was emoting about. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things changed after one of my patients coded and we saved him. The infant had only&lt;br /&gt;a single ventricle and had had his chest open for several days after&lt;br /&gt;his heart surgery - because the pressure would have been too much to&lt;br /&gt;close right away (there is a sterile dressing covering it all, but&lt;br /&gt;still weird to see). They had just closed his chest earlier that day&lt;br /&gt;and the surgeon went home. He went asystolic (ie flat line) and we&lt;br /&gt;rushed to revive him. These children are very tenuous and when they do&lt;br /&gt;code, they typically have to be placed on a mini heart and lung bypass&lt;br /&gt;machine of sorts (called a ventricular assist device) to support them&lt;br /&gt;for a few days. But this baby did so well after our resuscitative&lt;br /&gt;efforts, that was not needed. The surgeon came in long after it was all&lt;br /&gt;over and seemed amazed. He still tried to bark orders by having me&lt;br /&gt;increase the dosages on some of the inotropes (medications to support&lt;br /&gt;the various heart functions and blood pressure) and I would call back&lt;br /&gt;"So you want this much? That means X per min." As I dialed it on the IV&lt;br /&gt;pumps, he tried to be condescending by asking How do you know that?!&lt;br /&gt;And I looked back at him and smirked, saying "I calculated it." He's&lt;br /&gt;been nice to me ever since. Even now when I run into him in the&lt;br /&gt;cafeteria, he asks why I'm not still there and tells me his patients&lt;br /&gt;need me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1886234946381522392-375234817355132799?l=picusaz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/feeds/375234817355132799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1886234946381522392&amp;postID=375234817355132799' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/375234817355132799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/375234817355132799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/2007/06/coping-with-death.html' title='Confrontational Surgeons'/><author><name>Saz</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7548/3112/1600/sazsfview.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886234946381522392.post-8576338812327385510</id><published>2007-06-22T00:23:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-22T00:23:37.901-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Feb 2005 The Morgue</title><content type='html'>Some how I've lucked out and have always had someone&lt;br /&gt;else take the body away after I've done post mortem&lt;br /&gt;care. No one to do it last night.  I carried my infant&lt;br /&gt;patient in my arms, covered by a blanket, down to&lt;br /&gt;security to get the key and then down to the basement&lt;br /&gt;morgue where I placed her in a bag.  There's something&lt;br /&gt;so weird and final about zipping up that bag over the&lt;br /&gt;face.  I placed her next to another tiny body in a&lt;br /&gt;refrigerated room.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I keep playing the moment of her death over and&lt;br /&gt;over.... her parents holding her, crying out her name.&lt;br /&gt; Wondering if I was supportive enough for them......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not an easy aspect of my job.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1886234946381522392-8576338812327385510?l=picusaz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/feeds/8576338812327385510/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1886234946381522392&amp;postID=8576338812327385510' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/8576338812327385510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/8576338812327385510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/2007/06/feb-2005-morgue.html' title='Feb 2005 The Morgue'/><author><name>Saz</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7548/3112/1600/sazsfview.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886234946381522392.post-7371513098894486687</id><published>2007-06-22T00:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-22T00:06:10.703-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sept 2004 offer</title><content type='html'>This morning, driving Mike to Cal train, I get a phone&lt;br /&gt;call from my boss.  I think she's tryin to get me to&lt;br /&gt;work extra this weekend and right away I'm forming&lt;br /&gt;excuses in my mind, when she asks me..... if I'd be&lt;br /&gt;interested in training in the Peds heart cath lab.&lt;br /&gt;Didnt see that one coming! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cath lab is a place where cardiac diagnostic and&lt;br /&gt;other proceedures take place (angio grams,&lt;br /&gt;angioplasty, Rashkind, stent placement, ect). Some of&lt;br /&gt;these procedures are done to allow a newborn to grow a&lt;br /&gt;bit and maybe get to go home for a few months until&lt;br /&gt;their open heart surgery. Some fix the problem all&lt;br /&gt;together and prevent a baby from having to go through&lt;br /&gt;surgery.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's temporary..... to fill in for nurses on maternity&lt;br /&gt;leave. But it'll be really great experience! &lt;br /&gt;Something new and different to learn!  It'll be an&lt;br /&gt;amazing adition to my resume! And it may mean a better&lt;br /&gt;work schedual (not 100% sure on this one) But I do&lt;br /&gt;know that most heart caths happen during normal&lt;br /&gt;business hours mid week.  ie, I may get a break from&lt;br /&gt;the night shift and working weekends for a while!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1886234946381522392-7371513098894486687?l=picusaz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/feeds/7371513098894486687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1886234946381522392&amp;postID=7371513098894486687' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/7371513098894486687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/7371513098894486687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/2007/06/sept-2004-offer.html' title='Sept 2004 offer'/><author><name>Saz</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7548/3112/1600/sazsfview.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886234946381522392.post-2522859967155163376</id><published>2007-06-22T00:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-13T22:25:15.863-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Coping with Death</title><content type='html'>My boyfriend is the largest part of my&lt;br /&gt;support network and I feel guilty for having to use&lt;br /&gt;his sholder to cry on so often because of my work. &lt;br /&gt;Thats why I've always focused on getting out of town&lt;br /&gt;whenever possible.  Roadtrips, camping, snowboarding,&lt;br /&gt;etc helps keep me sane.  But sometimes even thats not&lt;br /&gt;enough. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When a child was expected to die, the situation is hard but a bit easier to deal with. The hard ones are the ones that surprise you; when they plummet and you fight hard for their life coding for hours and still dont get&lt;br /&gt;them back.  And the older the kid is, the harder it is&lt;br /&gt;for everyone to accept.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 infants died the week of October 17, 2004 .  A little girl,&lt;br /&gt;after caring for her for over a month post op, and a&lt;br /&gt;little boy we cared for over 6 months of multiple&lt;br /&gt;surgeries.  Both deaths were hitting me very hard.&lt;br /&gt;Especially after the numerous deaths we've had the&lt;br /&gt;past 2 months in the ICU.  Including an 18 yo we tried&lt;br /&gt;to save through 2 hours of chest compressions and code&lt;br /&gt;drugs.  It pains me to watch the families mourn.  I was&lt;br /&gt;doing a lot of crying with them, and couldn't seem to stop once I go home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No one ever said nursing was glamorous.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1886234946381522392-2522859967155163376?l=picusaz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/feeds/2522859967155163376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1886234946381522392&amp;postID=2522859967155163376' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/2522859967155163376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/2522859967155163376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/2007/06/emotional-wound-analogy.html' title='Coping with Death'/><author><name>Saz</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7548/3112/1600/sazsfview.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886234946381522392.post-6869227794500959088</id><published>2007-06-21T23:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-22T11:49:52.744-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Emotional Wound Analogy</title><content type='html'>Let me tell ya what I know about wounds.  The deeper&lt;br /&gt;they are, the more problematic a bandaid becomes. &lt;br /&gt;Sure, it seems like its protecting the wound, allowing&lt;br /&gt;it to heal, protecting it from infection.  But what if&lt;br /&gt;the infection is already in there, and now its trapped&lt;br /&gt;with a covering to keep things moist and warm for&lt;br /&gt;further breeding.  The sking starts to scar and heal&lt;br /&gt;as skin does, but the wound still lies benieth, not&lt;br /&gt;having the chance to properly heal from the inside&lt;br /&gt;out.  Sometimes it continues to grow deeper and deeper&lt;br /&gt;in the tissue, while looking ok from the outside and&lt;br /&gt;confusing the person who cant figure out where the&lt;br /&gt;pain is comming from. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To really heal a deep wound, you have to get in there,&lt;br /&gt;behind the bandages and clean it, regularly, to&lt;br /&gt;prevent infection and keep the tissue healthy as it&lt;br /&gt;heals.  Sometimes a temporary bandage is useful.  but&lt;br /&gt;it cant stay on and the wound may need some debreeding&lt;br /&gt;there after to get rid of the scar tissue and get back&lt;br /&gt;to the healthy tissue needed for really good healing&lt;br /&gt;from the inside out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1886234946381522392-6869227794500959088?l=picusaz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/feeds/6869227794500959088/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1886234946381522392&amp;postID=6869227794500959088' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/6869227794500959088'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/6869227794500959088'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/2007/06/confrontational-surgeons.html' title='Emotional Wound Analogy'/><author><name>Saz</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7548/3112/1600/sazsfview.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886234946381522392.post-3806573076573082605</id><published>2007-06-21T12:21:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-22T00:03:55.800-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ICU Cookies Aug 2004</title><content type='html'>Working in a busy ICU, thats often understaffed, there&lt;br /&gt;are days where I feel like I'm putting out fires right&lt;br /&gt;and left.  But this month, I'm on night shift.&lt;br /&gt;Typically no fires.  The pace is often slower.  Slow&lt;br /&gt;enough to bring in cookie dough to bake in the toaster&lt;br /&gt;oven in the staff lounge. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seemed like a good idea at the time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The toaster oven, while used, seems to have been in&lt;br /&gt;decent shape.  We set the temp to the recommended 350&lt;br /&gt;degrees and discovered with our first batch that in&lt;br /&gt;less than 5 min, the top cooked much faster than the&lt;br /&gt;middle and got a bit dark.  Still tasty, just a bit&lt;br /&gt;doughy in the middle.  The second batch, we decided to&lt;br /&gt;flatten and cook at a lower temp and watch closely. &lt;br /&gt;These came out great!  Only six more to go and it's&lt;br /&gt;time to serve hot chocolate chip cookies to all my&lt;br /&gt;co-workers at 5 am.  Who wouldn't love that?  With the&lt;br /&gt;last batch in the toaster oven, I asked another nurse&lt;br /&gt;Sarah (yeah there's 2 of us here) to watch them while&lt;br /&gt;I take care of my patient.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next thing I know Sarah and Jamie are yelling from the&lt;br /&gt;lounge "Oh my god there's a fire!  I'm not even&lt;br /&gt;kidding you Sara!" I ran, grabbed a towel and soaked&lt;br /&gt;it ran in to the lounge to find flames leaping out of&lt;br /&gt;the toaster oven and licking the shelf above.  I start&lt;br /&gt;batting it with the wet towel with one hand while&lt;br /&gt;removing items next to it with my left and yelling at&lt;br /&gt;the other two (who are totally freaking out) to get&lt;br /&gt;the extinguisher.  But they only run around saying "I&lt;br /&gt;don't know where it is! Arn't we supposed to call&lt;br /&gt;someone?  Who do we call?!!"  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take in to perspective that these are ICU nurses here.&lt;br /&gt; We're used to high stress situations with patients&lt;br /&gt;who drop their heart rate and blood pressure with in&lt;br /&gt;seconds.  This requires a personality who can hold it&lt;br /&gt;together in times of crisis.  We've been trained for&lt;br /&gt;such.  Except in cases of fire.  Drills we've had.&lt;br /&gt;Inservices on who to call and how to use and&lt;br /&gt;extinguisher.  All the info is even printed on the&lt;br /&gt;back of our badges.  But the situation has really&lt;br /&gt;never come up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my two cohorts are running circles around each&lt;br /&gt;other while I'm battling flames and trying to figure&lt;br /&gt;out how I'm going to reach around the flames quick&lt;br /&gt;enough to unplug the toaster.  Finally someone got our&lt;br /&gt;charge nurse from her break and she came in and&lt;br /&gt;immediately closed the door of the toaster.  Fire was&lt;br /&gt;out. (Now why didn't I think of that?) But the smoke&lt;br /&gt;thereafter was really incredible! The charge nurse and&lt;br /&gt;I soaked the burnt cookies and threw all the&lt;br /&gt;incriminating evidence in the trash.  By now alarms&lt;br /&gt;went off and several service men showed up to&lt;br /&gt;investigate, followed by the sound of fire trucks&lt;br /&gt;outside.  As the front of our ICU was filled with&lt;br /&gt;Firemen in full gear, my cohorts and I stood by,&lt;br /&gt;giggling from embarrassment and competing for reddest&lt;br /&gt;face (Tough competition! They're both redheads and&lt;br /&gt;really good at such shades!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the toaster is, well, toast. The electrician&lt;br /&gt;checked out the scene and came back to tell us the&lt;br /&gt;good news: that the coffee maker was on a separate&lt;br /&gt;circuit, so everything will be ok.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My throat feels like I just had a cigarette. My scrubs&lt;br /&gt;and hair really stink.  And my charge nurse has&lt;br /&gt;nicknamed me "Pyro"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I'll leave the baking to conventional ovens&lt;br /&gt;from now on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1886234946381522392-3806573076573082605?l=picusaz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/feeds/3806573076573082605/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1886234946381522392&amp;postID=3806573076573082605' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/3806573076573082605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/3806573076573082605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/2007/06/icu-cookies.html' title='ICU Cookies Aug 2004'/><author><name>Saz</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7548/3112/1600/sazsfview.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886234946381522392.post-6489324122278968230</id><published>2007-06-21T12:20:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-21T12:20:59.046-07:00</updated><title type='text'>moving to SF</title><content type='html'>sad times and lots of adjustment but time for a change&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1886234946381522392-6489324122278968230?l=picusaz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/feeds/6489324122278968230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1886234946381522392&amp;postID=6489324122278968230' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/6489324122278968230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/6489324122278968230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/2007/06/moving-to-sf.html' title='moving to SF'/><author><name>Saz</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7548/3112/1600/sazsfview.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886234946381522392.post-1654266909070095546</id><published>2007-06-21T12:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-21T12:20:16.501-07:00</updated><title type='text'>one more thing</title><content type='html'>just in case I want this space for another story&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1886234946381522392-1654266909070095546?l=picusaz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/feeds/1654266909070095546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1886234946381522392&amp;postID=1654266909070095546' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/1654266909070095546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/1654266909070095546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/2007/06/one-more-thing.html' title='one more thing'/><author><name>Saz</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7548/3112/1600/sazsfview.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886234946381522392.post-74600835904961619</id><published>2007-06-21T12:18:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-21T12:19:40.378-07:00</updated><title type='text'>hair do's</title><content type='html'>one of the things I really loved to so was make ponytails for the little girls&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1886234946381522392-74600835904961619?l=picusaz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/feeds/74600835904961619/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1886234946381522392&amp;postID=74600835904961619' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/74600835904961619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/74600835904961619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/2007/06/hair-dos.html' title='hair do&apos;s'/><author><name>Saz</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7548/3112/1600/sazsfview.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886234946381522392.post-1267299421615107891</id><published>2007-06-21T12:18:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-21T12:18:49.956-07:00</updated><title type='text'>my little man</title><content type='html'>he was one of my primary patients&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1886234946381522392-1267299421615107891?l=picusaz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/feeds/1267299421615107891/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1886234946381522392&amp;postID=1267299421615107891' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/1267299421615107891'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/1267299421615107891'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/2007/06/my-little-man.html' title='my little man'/><author><name>Saz</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7548/3112/1600/sazsfview.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886234946381522392.post-1443267297593920288</id><published>2007-06-21T12:18:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-21T12:18:20.856-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Drew</title><content type='html'>another kiddo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1886234946381522392-1443267297593920288?l=picusaz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/feeds/1443267297593920288/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1886234946381522392&amp;postID=1443267297593920288' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/1443267297593920288'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/1443267297593920288'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/2007/06/drew.html' title='Drew'/><author><name>Saz</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7548/3112/1600/sazsfview.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886234946381522392.post-5066329984255954042</id><published>2007-06-21T12:17:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-21T12:17:56.722-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Watching heart surgery for the first time</title><content type='html'>There was an amazing surgeon who&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1886234946381522392-5066329984255954042?l=picusaz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/feeds/5066329984255954042/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1886234946381522392&amp;postID=5066329984255954042' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/5066329984255954042'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/5066329984255954042'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/2007/06/watching-heart-surgery-for-first-time.html' title='Watching heart surgery for the first time'/><author><name>Saz</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7548/3112/1600/sazsfview.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886234946381522392.post-9074262999226749127</id><published>2007-06-21T12:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-21T12:17:06.351-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Skiing</title><content type='html'>Stories from skiing with the PICU team&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1886234946381522392-9074262999226749127?l=picusaz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/feeds/9074262999226749127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1886234946381522392&amp;postID=9074262999226749127' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/9074262999226749127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/9074262999226749127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/2007/06/skiing.html' title='Skiing'/><author><name>Saz</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7548/3112/1600/sazsfview.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886234946381522392.post-532168213896325326</id><published>2007-06-21T12:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-22T12:01:45.649-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Noa</title><content type='html'>One of my patients the first year I was an RN in the PICU was a little girl named Noa. I became one of her primary care nurses.  The experience with that family was powerful and still affects me to this day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Noa and her family were visiting relatives in northern California from their home in Sydney, when she first became ill.  She was 18 months old at the time. Her father was still in Australia due to business, so only she and her mother were present when she was first admitted to the pediatric intensive care unit (PICU).  Noa had the flu.  But it was not this illness, which brought her in to the PICU.  It was in the course of having the flu that she became too weak to sit up.  This weakness did not leave with her flu symptoms.  Studies conducted in our PICU came back with a diagnosis of Spinal Muscular Atrophy (SMA). Few children with this genetic, neuro-muscular disease live to adolescence. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The diagnosis was provided just as the father had arrived from overseas.  Having not seen his family in several weeks, he was in a complete state of shock to hear the news.  His beautiful baby girl had just been diagnosed with a disease with a poor prognosis.  Noa’s father was not coping well.  He felt out of control and was frequently emotional and would sometimes lash out angrily, finding blame with any medical staff that came near. Because of his length of time away during the initial stage of this disease, he seemed to place a lot of blame on himself as well. Noa’s mother, while obviously upset, was more accepting and focused on researching all the facets of her daughter’s illness.   &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Due to the severity of Noa’s disease and the need for therapies not available in Sydney, the family made plans to move and completely change their lives.  Noa’s mother and older brother stayed by her side while her father went back and forth to Australia.  Noa was discharged with a whole host of therapies to strengthen her.   &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;A month later, Noa came back due to an apneic event and continued difficulty breathing.  The SMA was now affecting her intercostal muscles.  She was intubated and placed on a ventilator. While upset about this change in events, the family as a whole seemed stronger and better able to cope with the disease.  They were no longer grieving the loss of their perfect, healthy child and were now focused on giving Noa as much quality of life as possible. This hospitalization was especially long and the staff came to truly bond with all members of the family.   &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;As staff, we did what we could toward giving Noa as much quality of life as possible while in her PICU room and connected to the ventilator. I often assisted the mother with her daily “spa treatment” where we’d sit Noa up on pillows and place her feet in a basin of warm bubbly water so she could kick and splash with her feet. We invited the family to decorate her ICU room and her mother filled the bed with pink boas.  We dubbed them “Noa boas”.  Child life was heavily involved and we all participated in each activity. Story time was every afternoon by a volunteer. Pet therapy was once a week, where a dog came and sat on her bed.  Music therapy was twice a week. This allowed Noa to use what little arm strength she had to shake a plastic egg filled with sand along with the music. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Despite being intubated, Noa was very expressive.  She learned to communicate with her eyes and eyebrows.  Two eyebrow lifts were for “yes” and either closing her eyes or shaking her head was “no.”  Her mother had even taught her a few hand signs.  This made it all the more enjoyable to spend time with Noa.  We could do silly things with her toys and make animal sounds that would get her laughing so hard that her ventilator would alarm, due to the changes in air pressure.  The family was now in California full time living with relatives and the father had not yet found work.  While the unemployment was a cause of stress, it allowed all family members to be at the bedside regularly to spend time with Noa.  &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The day Noa had a code blue, both parents were witnesses. Looking back, I am so glad they were there, as it truly made a difference in the days to come. At the time there was no set policy in the PICU on having parents around during such events.  If they had already been outside the unit, they likely would not have been let in.  Yet because they were there, they stood outside the room watching us all work fervently to bring their daughter back. They saw the respiratory therapist bag with one hand while holding her little fingers in the other and they heard our pleas to her while we infused various medications and IV fluids during the resuscitation. Noa made it through that episode and her mother rushed to her side as we walked out of the room.   But her father remained outside in order to hug each one of us.  Seeing our dedication to helping his child cemented our bond.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Noa was soon given a tracheotomy and a G-tube. With her airway stable, she was able to be weaned off the ventilator and only required routine suctioning and oxygen at night.  Through much family education, Noa and her family were discharged to go home.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many months later I received a call at home from my co-worker, that Noa was dying.  Noa had come in that week with respiratory distress and was barely responsive.  It became apparent that her condition was worsening.  After multiple family conferences, the family had made the decision to go home.  They had watched their daughter go through so much the past year and did not want to prolong her suffering.  The mother later explained to me how they lay her between the two of them and held her all night until she died.&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;The funeral was held in their neighborhood church, a three hour drive away, and almost all the PICU staff were there, wearing pink “Noa boas”.  The father said wonderful things about our unit and set up a fund in his daughter’s name. After the funeral, we went to their home where her mother showed me the garden she had made for Noa and the little cement “Noa angel” she had placed there in her memory. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The family thanked me for all I had done for Noa.  But I felt the experience with them as a family had given me so much more.  I had watched them from the beginning of their crisis period and saw them grow together and strengthen their coping skills.  Their faith and strength helped them through each hospitalization and worsening stage of her disease.  The rapport between the family members and hospital staff built trust and allowed family conferences to be more productive, as they knew we also wanted the best for Noa.  Their love and strength as a family continued to support them as they had to face the very difficult decision to let their daughter die. It was a decision that I had seen few parents make and filled me with the utmost respect and honor for them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1886234946381522392-532168213896325326?l=picusaz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/feeds/532168213896325326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1886234946381522392&amp;postID=532168213896325326' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/532168213896325326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/532168213896325326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/2007/06/noa.html' title='Noa'/><author><name>Saz</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7548/3112/1600/sazsfview.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886234946381522392.post-3738543898225451287</id><published>2007-06-21T12:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-10T20:46:40.322-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nursing school</title><content type='html'>When I was a nursing student, my first day of my PICU rotation, I was cuddling a baby on my lap, feeding him a bottle and thinking how sweet he was. That was until I felt the really warm wetness soaking through my pant leg and looked down to see diarrhea exploding from the kid's diaper.  &lt;br /&gt;The other nurses just laughed at me when I called for help and said "welcome to pediatrics!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's been an awful lot of body fluids of various sorts on me since. Thank god for scrubs that are easy to wash in hot water and disposable gloves!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1886234946381522392-3738543898225451287?l=picusaz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/feeds/3738543898225451287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1886234946381522392&amp;postID=3738543898225451287' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/3738543898225451287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/3738543898225451287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/2007/06/testing-testing-123.html' title='Nursing school'/><author><name>Saz</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7548/3112/1600/sazsfview.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886234946381522392.post-751821626273495751</id><published>2007-06-21T11:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-21T12:14:13.774-07:00</updated><title type='text'>PICU Nostalgia</title><content type='html'>I'm starting this blog at a point in time when I am considering leaving hospital nursing all together.  Just graduating with my MSN&lt;br /&gt;in community and international health, I have new options before me to&lt;br /&gt;explore&lt;br /&gt;global health (see my blog on my international&lt;br /&gt;adventures:&lt;a href="http://nurzsaz.blogspot.com"&gt;Saz Sans Frontiers&lt;/a&gt;). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I'm feeling a bit nostalgic for all my local adventures in PICU&lt;br /&gt;nursing over the years. Some of these memories have already been&lt;br /&gt;written about and I will post them here, along with those yet to be&lt;br /&gt;written. Enjoy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1886234946381522392-751821626273495751?l=picusaz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/feeds/751821626273495751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1886234946381522392&amp;postID=751821626273495751' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/751821626273495751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1886234946381522392/posts/default/751821626273495751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://picusaz.blogspot.com/2007/06/picu-nostalgia.html' title='PICU Nostalgia'/><author><name>Saz</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7548/3112/1600/sazsfview.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
