Archive for the ‘Nursing perspective’ Category

h1

So You’re a Nurse With a Story to Tell…

January 30, 2015

Madeleine Mysko, MA, RN, coordinator of AJN’s monthly Reflections column, is a poet, novelist, and graduate of the Johns Hopkins Writing Seminars who has taught creative writing in Baltimore for many years.

karindalziel/ via Flickr Creative Commons

karindalziel/ via Flickr Creative Commons

Whenever I meet someone new who happens to be a nurse—in both clinical and social settings—I wait for the right moment to mention my work at AJN on the Reflections column. It’s not only that I’m proud of the column. It’s also that I’m forever on the lookout for that next submission—for a fresh, compelling story I just know is destined to shine (accompanied by a fabulous professional illustration) on the inside back page of AJN.

“I imagine you have a story or two to tell,” I’ll say to a nurse I’ve just met—which is the same thing I say, whenever I have the chance, to nurses I’ve known for years. I mean it sincerely; given the vantage point on humanity that our profession affords, I actually do believe that every nurse is carrying around material for a terrific story.

The response I usually get (along with a wry smile, the raising of eyebrows, or a short laugh) is, “Oh yes. I have stories.”

But then—even as I’m mentioning the Reflections author guidelines, even as I say warmly that we’re eager to read—I can sense the backing away.

“Sure,” the nurse will say. “I’ll check it out . . . but the thing is, I’m not exactly a writer.”

Photo by mezone, via Flickr.

Photo by mezone, via Flickr.

How to explain it?—how to explain that we aren’t so much looking for nurses who are good writers as we’re looking for essays well written by good nurses.

If you’re still with me in this scenario (and especially if you’re someone not exactly inclined to sit down before breakfast on your day off and pen a gem of an essay) maybe you could let me know what you think of this pitch: Read the rest of this entry ?

h1

AJN in February: Rapid Response Teams, Complications of CHD Repair, Managing Type 2 Diabetes, More

January 29, 2015

AJN0215 Cover OnlineAJN’s February issue is now available on our Web site. Here’s a selection of what not to miss.

Rapid response teams (RRTs) are teams of expert providers who can be called on in an emergency to treat patients before their condition deteriorates. The success of an RRT depends on whether it is activated properly, a task that often falls to staff nurses. The original research article, “Hospital System Barriers to Rapid Response Team Activation: A Cognitive Work Analysis,” describes the factors affecting nurses’ decisions to activate RRTs. This CE feature offers 3 CE credits to those who take the test that follows the article.

Further explore this topic by listening to a podcast interview with the author (this and other free podcasts are accessible via the Behind the Article podcasts page on our Web site, in our iPad app, or on iTunes).

Long-term complications after congenital heart defect (CHD) repair. Nurses often encounter patients with complications that occurred years after CHD repair. “Long-Term Outcomes After Repair of Congenital Heart Disease: Part 2” reviews four common CHDs, their repairs, common long-term outcomes, and implications for nurses in both cardiac and noncardiac settings. This article offers 2.5 CE credits to those who take the test that follows the article.

Making nurses full partners in reforming health care. The Institute of Medicine’s report, The Future of Nursing: Leading Change, Advancing Health, suggests that nurses should be full partners in reforming health care in this country. “A Bold New Vision for America’s Health Care System” is the first in a series that will revisit the report’s recommendations and the progress that has been made toward making them realities. Read the rest of this entry ?

h1

Nursing Perspective: Why I Work in Corrections

January 23, 2015

By Megen Duffy, BA, BSN, RN. Her blog is Not Nurse Ratched.

Michael Coghlan/Flickr

Michael Coghlan/Flickr

When I go to work, I go through a metal detector (did you know Danskos contain metal?), and all my belongings are scanned or gone through. I check out keys and a radio, and then I go through a series of sally ports to get to the medical area. I count every needle and pair of scissors I use. I never see patients without an armed guard nearby, and a good portion of my patients are cuffed and shackled. I’m on camera from the second I get out of my car.

Welcome to prison, nursing style!

“Why?” people ask me. “Couldn’t you get another job? Aren’t you scared? Didn’t you like the ER?” I worked in critical care/emergency nursing for a long time, and yes, I did like it. I brought those skills with me to corrections, where they are a lock-and-key fit. A surprising number of corrections nurses are ex-ER nurses. The same personality types work well in both settings.

Corrections nursing involves phenomenal nursing autonomy and uses many of the skills I honed in the ER:

  • quick triage
  • multitasking
  • sorting out who is lying from who is sick
  • knowing which assessments are the most important for each situation

The atmosphere tends to be quirky to chaotic and requires imagination, flexibility, and an ability to string together solutions to problems that no one has ever seen before. Particularly in jails, you never know what is going to come through the door. A jail booking area is exactly like ER triage.

I like that; I like having a job where strange things are bound to happen. I like seeing things that most people never see. I like knowing that things could get hairy at any time and that I have to be on my game all the time. Read the rest of this entry ?

h1

Cassandra’s Refusal of Chemo: Nurse Ethicist Ponders Ethics of Forcing Treatment

January 21, 2015

Douglas Olsen is an associate professor at the Michigan State University College of Nursing in East Lansing and a contributing editor of AJN, where he regularly writes about ethical issues in nursing.

scalesThe case of Cassandra, a 17-year-old female in Connecticut being compelled by the court to undergo chemotherapy for Hodgkin’s lymphoma, has aroused interest in the media and among bioethicists, who have offered mixed conclusions. (Here’s a recent update on Cassandra’s legal status.) For example, Ruth Macklin concludes that the actions taken to force the treatment were not justified, while Arthur Caplan concludes that compelling her to have the chemo is justified. Both are scholars of the highest order.

I agree with Caplan that she should be given the chemotherapy, but my purpose here is to illustrate that perspective plays an often unacknowledged role in ethical analysis. When feelings and personal perspective go unacknowledged, the analysis loses credibility and depth.

The principles in conflict in this the case are straightforward for ethicists: respect for autonomy versus beneficence.

As a society, we value control over personal choice, that is, autonomy, which would mean honoring Cassandra’s decision to forgo the chemo. The chief justification for overriding a patient’s autonomy is that the patient lacks decision-making capacity because she is a minor.

However, we also value doing what is best for patients—beneficence —and this means giving the chemo. Within the principle of beneficence, the “best” course of action is the one my training and experience as a nurse tells me will result in improved health, more function, and better quality of life.

The chief justification for overriding beneficence is that a patient with decision-making capacity chooses to do otherwise. The ethically relevant controversies of this case include:

  • the nature of Cassandra’s decision-making capacity
  • the degree of benefit expected from the treatment
  • the degree of harm expected as a result of honoring her refusal

The law considers Cassandra, as a minor, to lack decision-making capacity. However, she would probably pass a clinical assessment of her decision-making capacity. Cassandra is about nine months from being 18, the age at which she would be assumed to have capacity. In similar cases, the law sometimes invokes the ‘mature minor’ doctrine and allows a teen with clinically determined decision-making capacity to make the decision. (Editor’s note: A 2007 AJN article by the author discusses a similar case; it’s free until February 28.)

Other facts supporting a choice to respect her autonomy are that her mother agrees with her refusal and that the patient published an articulate essay (log-in required) in the Hartford Courant describing her situation.

Arguments that might be made against choosing respect for autonomy over beneficence are that the reasons for refusing chemotherapy given by Cassandra and her mother, while understandable in terms of the desire to avoid chemotherapy’s side effects, seem shortsighted in terms of scientific facts about this disease and its treatment.

Read the rest of this entry ?

h1

Calling All Nurses to Address Health Disparities

January 16, 2015

Susan B. Hassmiller, PhD, RN, FAAN, is senior adviser for nursing at the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation and director of the Future of Nursing: Campaign for Action.

The author with nursing students at the Rhode Island Nurses Institute Middle College, the first charter school in the country for high school students who want to major in nursing.

The author with nursing students at the Rhode Island Nurses Institute Middle College, the first charter school in the country for high school students who want to major in nursing.

The research on health disparities is stark and continues to increase. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s Health Disparities and Inequalities Report–2013 found that mortality rates from chronic illness, premature births, suicide, auto accidents, and drugs were all higher for certain minority populations.

But I believe passionately that nurses and other health professionals can be part of the solution to addressing these disparities. Nurses are privileged to enter into the lives of others in a very intimate way—lives that are often very different than our own.

I understand that it is human nature to be more comfortable with the familiar, but this is not what we are called to in nursing. More than 150 years ago, Florence Nightingale noted a strong link between a population’s health and its economic prosperity, and she called for all people to be treated equally.

My mother told me that when she first entered nurses’ training at New York City’s Bellevue Hospital School of Nursing in 1943, Director Blanche Edwards addressed the students on her conduct expectations for nurse trainees. Part of that lecture—and of the nursing culture absorbed by those being trained at Bellevue—addressed the equality of all human life and how she expected her nurses to treat everyone with equal care and attention. Read the rest of this entry ?

h1

A Brief Meditation on Love, Loss, and Nursing

January 14, 2015

Julianna Paradisi, RN, OCN, writes a monthly post for this blog and works as an infusion nurse in outpatient oncology.

Manicure, by Julianna Paradisi, 2014

Manicure, by Julianna Paradisi, 2014

As a child, I remember being afraid to fall in love, because I didn’t want to experience the pain of losing people I loved when they died. I don’t know why I thought about this; I only know that I did.

Becoming a nurse has done absolutely nothing to alleviate this fear, but life experience has, to some degree.

Nursing is hard not only because we are there for the dying, but also because we are there for the illnesses and deaths of our own, the people we love, too. Making a living by caring for the sick and dying does not exempt us from personal loss. We grieve and mourn like everyone else.

Recently, I sat in a chair in an emergency department, noticing the sparkly red polish of a woman’s holiday manicure as she rolled past on a gurney. Clearly, she hadn’t anticipated an ER visit as part of her holiday celebrations either. On another gurney, next to my chair, lay my husband, getting an EKG, labs, and IV fluids. The prayer, “Please, don’t let it be a heart attack or a brain tumor,” wove silently through my thoughts.

We were lucky. There was no heart disease, no brain tumor. It was viral, just a touch of the flu. Two liters of IV normal saline did the trick.

“Thank you.”

I wish everything could be cured with a couple of liters of normal saline. There are nurses reading this post who recently grieved for loved ones absent from their places around the holiday meal table. No one mentions that all love stories eventually end. The most enduring conclude at death, and there’s the burn. Nurses know there’s no such thing as love without loss. Read the rest of this entry ?

h1

Long-Distance Coaching

January 9, 2015

Patrice Gopo is a writer living in North Carolina.

The author

Patrice Gopo

Moments ago I’d been crouching on my bed, but now I lay wrapped in a thick duvet. My panting began to slow to a normal cadence. Then a sharp rush. My midsection hardened, followed by intense cramping. With a swift motion, I moved from lying on the bed back to all fours.

“Find your point and focus.”

I heard my mother’s words through the speakers of the computer. My eyes locked on where the edge of the metal curtain rod met the white wall.

Around me, voices and images drifted away.

Before I gave birth to my first child, I didn’t know that between a tightening abdomen and waves of pain, Skype conversations were possible.

While I appreciated that technology could bring someone distant close, my mother wasn’t supposed to be a face on the computer. She was meant to be by my side and not in a living room 10,000 miles away. But my daughter had decided to slide down the birth canal 12 days before expected.

My mother describes herself as a practical person. “I’m a nurse. It’s in the job description,” she often says. When pregnant with her own firstborn—my older sister—her contractions began in the midst of an overnight shift in the labor and delivery unit. She completed the night’s job before calling to admit herself as a patient.

Three decades later, I asked her to be with me when I gave birth for the first time. As a nurse, my mother held expert knowledge about supporting the birthing process. In her lifetime, she had helped more laboring mothers than she could remember.

“I will come early,” she’d said about flying halfway across the globe from my hometown in Anchorage, Alaska, to my married home in Cape Town, South Africa. “I’ll help you finish last-minute preparations.”

What better birth coach could there be? Probably a birth coach in the same room as me. Just before the scheduled beginning of her 36-hour journey crossing the world, she called. “They won’t let me fly. My passport is expired.”

“What? But are you still coming? When are you coming?” I paced back and forth in an attempt to slow my building anxiety.

“Not to worry. Five days. I will be there in five days,” she said in a calm voice that reflected her even temperament.

After the call ended, I threw myself on my bed and put a pillow over my head as if the slight weight might soften my distress. Hours later, my Braxton Hicks contractions escalated to something with greater force.

That night—when my mother should have been 30,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean—I squatted on the bathroom floor, the phone cradled against my ear. After another debilitating contraction left me with a whisper in my voice, I said, “Mom, I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes, you can.” My mother’s positive, commanding words came through the phone line. “Your body is doing exactly what it should.”

The heightened adrenaline made it difficult for my husband and me to recall and implement skills from birth class. As each contraction seized me, I couldn’t visualize any relaxing image. During the one minute that my body tensed, I wanted to—and often did—curl myself up, as I envisioned my baby folded inside of me.

“Let’s talk on Skype,” my mother suggested.

Her solution meant we could see each other. She could watch my body language for clues to my pain level and readiness. Her coaching could be more directed. Across continents, she chatted as if this were a normal day and not the middle of the night during my first, and unexpectedly early, labor.

When the next contraction began, I heard her confident, steady voice telling me to choose a single point to focus on. Just stare there. I picked where the curtain rod butted up against the wall. Read the rest of this entry ?

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,310 other followers

%d bloggers like this: