August 15, 2011

This, my friends, is the day that I decided... I could never be nurse. A lot of people have asked or insinuated that after this experience, a change of major might be in order. And this could have been the case prior to today: the day I learned the definition of squeamish. I've had patients that have come in with urinary tract infections, various funguses ( yes I know it's fungi, it just doesn't feel right), breast infections, I've even blessed many with painful shots in the butt (most not pleasing to the eye if you know what I mean), BUT none of these made me as -adjective: easily nauseated and disgusted as the man who walked in on this day with an infected motorcycle wound (yet another reason to not drive like a maniac on the road). This man came in today with a wound that had been stitched up about a month ago. Well, the gash got so infected that the stitches burst open, exposing the wound to even more infections. Needless to say the cut was gnarly, but this is still not the part that made me pat myself on the back for my choice of major. What got me was all of the plaque *gag* yes ladies and gentlemen, plaque, that was in this man's leg. We had to take gauze and alcohol and violently remove all of the puss and infected muscle tissue surrounding the nerve. Well, Alejandra was the one to remove all of the plaque, or in layman's terms, icky-black-nastiness, good thing too because I stepped out. Haha! I couldn't stomach it. Especially when a 200 lb. grown man is fighting back his screams because of the pain. So I tip my hat to all of you nurses and doctors, it would be an honor to join your clan, but unfortunately that requires a stomach that can handle the job. As for me, well, I'll be sticking with psychology, so.... "how does that make you feel?" =)