Tales from the floor of the Burn Unit

I am slightly embarrassed (maybe intrigued) that I have been dwelling recently on the crasser aspects of our life. That being said, I still can't resist posting this:

Last month was a crazy one for us because D was working in the burn unit. Those of you living in or around Salt Lake might remember all sorts of stories on the news last month: explosion in Provo at a manufacturing plant, explosion of someone's house while they were lying in bed, and cancer-survivor dying of a particularly aggressive case of Streptococcus pyogenes (otherwise known as the flesh-eating bacteria). These patients were just a few that my husband was taking care of. He has worked crazy hours for the last four weeks mainly because the unit at the "U" is the only burn center located in Utah and the adjacent states, they've been down a resident since one quit in November, and the 12 beds in the unit were full (with 5 other burn patients littered around ICU's in the hospital). Man, it makes me tired just thinking about it!

Anyway, my first story involves a man who has been a patient in the unit for about 7 months. A fire at work left him with 80-90% of his body burnt. He has been healing slowly and had many skin grafts. D was taking out his tracheotomy tube because they were downsizing it (or something like that--I'm not the doctor), a job that generally causes the patient to begin coughing. True to form, this man began coughing and lobbed a huge phlegm-ball that landed right in my dear husband's mouth. He didn't tell me this story until today and I was totally grossed out! I am requiring him to gargle Listerine a few times before we kiss again.

My husband's nickname is "Happy D" and this has served him well with the nurses at the hospital--it is a good thing he tells me all about his new buddies (aka nurses, young and old), or I might be worried about a little hanky-panky on the side. He let me know that he scored big, once again, with the nurses when he asked them to "please" get a stool specimen from a 500 POUND WOMAN they needed to discharge (incidentally, for any of you who are aware of BMI's, this woman's was 80!). He needed the stool sample before she was released to check for a common opportunistic infection, Clostridium difficile, that occurs with patients who have been on antibiotics. The woman was constipated and needed a suppository. They were like, "Oh, D, come on, do we really have to?" He thought about it for a second and said, "Well guys, I ask you to do rectals all the time. I'll do it if you help me turn her." Word spread quickly that he was going to do this and by the time he arrived in her room 6 "helpers" had shown up. Two people flipped her on her side, two people were holding up each cheek from the top, and two were spreading a cheek from the side. D did the dirty work (he said it took a little digging-ew), and the sample quickly arrived. (sorry, for those of you who are queasy, I'm sure that story did it to you)

Well, it is 10:04 and I should be going to bed, but I am now reminded of another story told by my parisitology professor at BYU. This professor was brilliant--up for the nobel prize because he helped discover a way to culture malaria-- and was a masterful story-teller. He was doing research in Africa, I think, on a parasite that affects sheep. As you may know, most parasites are contracted via the fecal-oral route and are passed, you guessed it, via the stools. To obtain the stool specimen this professor would use a glass pipet to stimulate the sheep's, umm, rear-end. He became known for his great and efficient ability to collect samples, and one of his fellow students or scientists asked him how he did it. He told his friend. Apparently this friend didn't understand the mechanics of the manuever and inserted one end of the pipet into the sheep and the other end into HIS mouth and blew. His manipulation worked all too well--he took a huge shot of feces to the face.

And that folks, is my sign-off. Sweet dreams, okay?