Drilling into Bone: A Nurse’s Guide to Intraosseous Vascular Access

By Sylvia Foley, AJN senior editor

An example of a pediatric manual intraosseous needle insertion. Used by permission. An example of a manual pediatric intraosseous needle insertion. Reprinted with permission from King C, et al. Textbook of Pediatric Emergency Procedures. 2nd ed. Philadelphia: Lippincott Williams and Wilkins; 2007.

In this month’s CE Emergency feature, “Intraosseous Vascular Access for Alert Patients,” authors Stacy Hunsaker and Darren Hillis  describe this scenario: a three-year-old girl arrives in the ED after three days of fever, vomiting, and diarrhea. She needs fluids urgently, but efforts to establish IV access have been unsuccessful. Now she’s on the verge of decompensated shock. The team is about to try an alternative route—intraosseous (IO) vascular access—but there are concerns: “Could such access be attempted on a patient who wasn’t unconscious? Would the parents understand why a hole was going to be drilled into the bone of their child’s leg?” The team must decide whether and how to proceed.

If this child were your patient, would you know what to do? If you aren’t sure, you are not alone. In this article, Hunsaker and Hillis provide some answers. Here’s a short summary. […]

2017-07-27T14:49:36-04:00October 31st, 2013|Nursing|4 Comments

We’re Not Going to Lie to You

By D’Arcy Norman, via Flickr

By Marcy Phipps, RN, whose essay, “The Soul on the Head of a Pin,” was published in the May 2010 issue of AJN.

“Hgb 4.1,” the lab tech said, and we jumped as though someone had fired a starter pistol. While one nurse called the on-call trauma doctor, the rest of us mobilized in preparation for the interventions we anticipated.

The “critical results” call wasn’t a surprise. The teenager’s pelvis had been crushed when he was run over by a delivery truck. His blood pressure was holding fairly steady, but we didn’t put much faith in that. In cases of hemorrhagic shock, young patients tend to compensate until the very last second, and we knew that.

His heart rate was soaring and his color was terrible. In the 15 minutes since he’d been wheeled into the unit, flat and flaccid on a stretcher, he’d gone from barely arousable to completely nonresponsive. Aside from his shallow, even respirations, he looked strikingly dead.

A good nursing team functions like a choreographed troupe, and we were at our best that day, moving with staccato precision. Massive transfusions can do wonders; still, it was amazing how quickly he improved. He lost the gray-white pallor and his heart rate stabilized. Then his lashes fluttered and he opened his eyes.

He regarded us working over him for several minutes. The air of urgency remained, and the gravity of his condition was no secret.

“This is bad, isn’t it?” he asked.

And it wasn’t a time for platitudes.

“We’re […]

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