Just One Braid: The Power of Small Gestures to Restore Patient Dignity

Have you ever found yourself walking around your unit, overwhelmed by the prospect of managing your ever-growing workload? It sometimes feels like a never-ending cycle of assessments, medications, admissions, and discharges. I believe I’m not the only nurse who has experienced this frustration.

It is difficult to admit that, when COVID-19 entered our hospital doors, these thoughts consumed me. We witnessed the first casualties—not just of lives, but also of hope and intimacy—as we struggled to provide care and overcome our own anxieties amidst a scarcity of personal protective equipment (PPE).

Over time, we all learned a great deal about adapting to and managing a pandemic, and I have become more aware of my role within our flawed health care system. Focusing on my own fears and needs was valuable, of course, but these years opened my eyes to the injustices patients face. A significant proportion of the lives lost from COVID-19 due to ill-prepared infrastructure were from vulnerable communities. These realities transformed my perception of these injustices from distant awareness to concrete urgency.

Braiding a patient’s hair, restoring a sense of self.

The question of injustice brings to mind a recent encounter with a patient that deeply impacted me. This particular patient was young […]

Patient Input on Obstacles to Sleep Helps Focus One Unit’s Improvement Efforts

Do you know anyone who’s ever had a good night’s sleep in the hospital? As nurses, we hear the complaints; as patients ourselves, or as family members of patients, we’ve been there.

Differing views on the source of a unit’s sleep problem.

After their hospital’s 20-bed telemetry unit received a low HCAHPS survey score on a quiet-at-night question, nurse practitioner Christian Karl Antonio and his colleagues at a northern California community hospital took on the challenge of improving patients’ sleep experience on the unit.

Before designing an intervention, they spoke with patients as well as staff, and were surprised to learn that the two groups see the problem differently.

“Patients perceived being awakened for vital signs, blood draws, and medication administration as the most frequently occurring factors that contributed to noise at night. On the other hand, staff members perceived that noise at night came from staff conversations, equipment with alarms, announcements on the paging system, and delivery carts, among other sources.”

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How Can We Improve the Hospital Experience of Visually Impaired Patients?

VIP Care Toolbox used in QI project

“Hello, I’m your nurse, Jane. Are you able to see me clearly?”

I have trouble functioning without a pair of eyeglasses within reach. If I were in the hospital without my glasses, I’d be at a loss—unable to read for pleasure, let alone read menus or instructions or consent forms. How much harder is it for people with moderate vision loss, or those who are totally blind?

Christine Carlson and her colleagues at St. David’s North Austin Medical Center in Austin, Texas, set out to answer this question. They met with visually impaired people in the community, reviewed the literature, and surveyed their own staff in order to learn the best ways to accommodate the unique needs of visually impaired patients, or ‘VIPs.’

In “Caring for Visually Impaired Patients in the Hospital: A Multidisciplinary Quality Improvement Project” in the May issue of AJN, the authors highlight how frightening and frustrating a hospitalization can be for those with limited or no sight, and share simple, practical interventions that can make an enormous difference in the safety and quality of a VIP’s hospital experience.

“I’m always afraid to go to the hospital. They don’t know […]

2020-05-21T09:52:23-04:00May 21st, 2020|patient experience, Patients|0 Comments

Who’s Listening to Hospitalized Patients with Hearing Impairment?

In my early years in nursing, attention to patients’ hearing deficits was a big deal. It was assumed that we couldn’t properly care for someone if that person couldn’t hear us. Every admission assessment included an appraisal of the patient’s hearing: “Hears ticking watch eight inches from each ear,” or “hears quiet conversation at three feet without difficulty,” or “patient states deaf in right ear,” or some other specific description.

When hearing difficulties were evident, a sign was prominently posted over the head of the bed, a note in red ink was written in the Kardex (those quick-reference summaries of key points on all patients that were updated daily), and a special label was affixed to the front of the (paper) chart.

A communication impediment, often ignored.

Why don’t we do these things anymore? I see little indication that the needs of a hearing-impaired patient are a clinical priority. The deficit is not noted on the whiteboards that seem to be standard issue in patients’ rooms today. As a hospital visitor, I watch with dismay as staff fail to acknowledge acutely obvious hearing impairments.

A family member has tumor-induced hearing loss in one ear, and I explain on every admission that people need to speak up when addressing him. I ask them to make use of his intact […]

The Hospital as Foreign Country

Capture“A Foreign Place,” the February Reflections essay by Barbara Sosman, delves into one patient’s experience of the sometimes inscrutable, sometimes terrifying, sometimes humorous events and encounters in one small corner of a hospital.

Below are the first two paragraphs, but as always, it’s worth clicking through and reading the entire essay (the PDF version is best). This one would be particularly hard to summarize; it takes us to unexpected places.—Jacob Molyneux, senior editor

The flow of life and death in a hospital is mysterious, like the sound of a foreign language, and the mysteries that bring us here are profound. Stretched out in an unfamiliar hospital bed, I suppress realities, aware that tomorrow a scalpel will remove an enlarged node for a biopsy. The biopsy will show what I sense, a cellular chaos that threatens my life. Soon my disease will be presented like an offering. What will I do with it?

A room can become a universe and time there an infinity. This room is inhabited by women, of whom I am the youngest by decades  . . .

As always, comments are welcome.

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