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Owie owie owie... (Warning, cringe inducing content.)
14 years ago
At least, if I read about this sort of thing I know I cringe. You've been warned, if your squeamish, don't blame me.
Since we got to the new hospital, I work in a pharmacy for a hospital that just opened a new branch, we have had to change a lot of our standard procedures. It's largely meant to increase safety and efficiency, though the total lack of fore-though has made the efficiency thing moot. One of the changes I was most wary of was the new glove boxes.
In the old hospital we had what was considered an 'open air' hood that we used at night to make IV preparations of drugs. I've never been wildly fond of needles, but I'm okay when they're in my hands. I only had a couple minor jabs where I didn't even break skin before. The old method left us with nothing between us and the needles/medication so it was very natural and easy to work with.
The glove boxes have us using a chambered system and a pair of giant gloves to manipulate syringes and IV medications. It's only slightly better than trying to prepare your whole dinner with winter gloves on. Well, this morning I finally slipped up with a needle and put it right in one of my fingers. I didn't leave it in long enough to really measure it, but I'm fairly sure it just sunk right down the bone before I yanked it out.
At first I didn't even feel it. The blood came damn fast, but the pain took at least five minutes to register.
It was, however, one of the few times I panicked. As I said, I don't like needles. I have learned to force myself out of the moment in order to get shots or blood drawn, but I have something of my mother's innate deep fear of the sharp things. I think it's because I have a lot of very old memories of a lot of needle sticks from when I was very young and doctors thought they could fix my stomach problems.
I didn't do anything dumb when it happened; I grabbed an alcohol swab to sanitize the puncture and catch the blood and put pressure on the finger while I hunted for band-aids. I also asked my pharmacist on duty, indirectly, if he could make the IV while I cleaned out the hood. That may sound like nothing, but I DON'T ask for help at work unless I am strictly incapable of doing something.
I just remember feeling panicked for a while after the incident and I was glad I was headed home soon, I don't know if I could have touched another needle. Even just now, when I woke up and felt the finger throb, I just got a small bit of the panic back when I remembered what happened.
I don't know why, I'm just really unsettled by needles I guess. Maybe it wouldn't be/have been so bad if there wasn't so much on my mind, but when isn't there a lot on everyone's mind? I'm not sure what the purpose of this journal entry is, but that's it really...
Since we got to the new hospital, I work in a pharmacy for a hospital that just opened a new branch, we have had to change a lot of our standard procedures. It's largely meant to increase safety and efficiency, though the total lack of fore-though has made the efficiency thing moot. One of the changes I was most wary of was the new glove boxes.
In the old hospital we had what was considered an 'open air' hood that we used at night to make IV preparations of drugs. I've never been wildly fond of needles, but I'm okay when they're in my hands. I only had a couple minor jabs where I didn't even break skin before. The old method left us with nothing between us and the needles/medication so it was very natural and easy to work with.
The glove boxes have us using a chambered system and a pair of giant gloves to manipulate syringes and IV medications. It's only slightly better than trying to prepare your whole dinner with winter gloves on. Well, this morning I finally slipped up with a needle and put it right in one of my fingers. I didn't leave it in long enough to really measure it, but I'm fairly sure it just sunk right down the bone before I yanked it out.
At first I didn't even feel it. The blood came damn fast, but the pain took at least five minutes to register.
It was, however, one of the few times I panicked. As I said, I don't like needles. I have learned to force myself out of the moment in order to get shots or blood drawn, but I have something of my mother's innate deep fear of the sharp things. I think it's because I have a lot of very old memories of a lot of needle sticks from when I was very young and doctors thought they could fix my stomach problems.
I didn't do anything dumb when it happened; I grabbed an alcohol swab to sanitize the puncture and catch the blood and put pressure on the finger while I hunted for band-aids. I also asked my pharmacist on duty, indirectly, if he could make the IV while I cleaned out the hood. That may sound like nothing, but I DON'T ask for help at work unless I am strictly incapable of doing something.
I just remember feeling panicked for a while after the incident and I was glad I was headed home soon, I don't know if I could have touched another needle. Even just now, when I woke up and felt the finger throb, I just got a small bit of the panic back when I remembered what happened.
I don't know why, I'm just really unsettled by needles I guess. Maybe it wouldn't be/have been so bad if there wasn't so much on my mind, but when isn't there a lot on everyone's mind? I'm not sure what the purpose of this journal entry is, but that's it really...
