That Blowy Thing
It's funny to think back to your "early days" of respiratory. I distinctly remember the very first patient I ever talked to. See, back then, it was a monumental feat for me to even speak to the patients -- that's how nervous I was. It happened in my second week of clinicals. (Now I know what some of you are thinking: "You didn't speak to a single patient your entire first week of clinicals?!?" This is correct, and very, very pathetic.)
After quizzing me with some trick questions, I suppose the therapist I was shadowing felt comfortable allowing me into a patient's room alone. My objective was to go into this relatively young man's room and have him use his incentive spirometer. Easy task, right? At the time, this singular request was my Mt. Everest. (Just so you know, it's OK to laugh. I'm smiling and cringing as I write this.)
I walked into the man's room, and he was relaxing with his wife. The guy looked in pretty good shape and seemed in good spirits. Now, I don't remember the exact wordage, but I know it went something like this:
"Hi, ummm, (insert patient name here), ahhhh, do you have a spirometer?" I asked, continuously looking at the paper with the his name and room number.
"Yeah, sure," the patient responded.
***NOTE: Students, never refer to an incentive spirometer as a "spirometer." With most patients, you will get the "deer-in-the-headlights" look. Acceptable names for the IS include "breathing device," "clear noise maker," or "that sucking thingy." Or, you could always just use my method: find the IS and hand it to them. Back to the embarrassment ...
The patient picked up his IS. I then instructed him on its use. After all, I am a respiratory professional here. "Ummmm, could you, um, blow into that for me ... a, uhh, few times ... please?"
***NOTE: You do not "blow into" a spirometer. I repeat, the IS is a "sucky thing," not a "blowy thing." Epic failure on my part.
"Sure" the patient said, paying no attention to my ignorance and doing the procedure correctly.
"Thank you!" I replied, immediately bolting out of the door into the hallway.
I had conquered my Mt. Everest. I spoke to a patient, misinformed him on a very basic procedure, and essentially made a fool of myself ... AND I WAS PROUD!
I felt like a rock star driving home that day. It's funny to look back on that moment now. If you had told me all the things I would experience in the next two years, I probably would've curled up in the fetal position in the corner and cried myself to sleep.
The experiences are many (joyous, tragic, depressing, hopeful), and some may be bigger than others, but they are all cumulative. Those few foolish words I said to that man embarrassed the heck out of me, but I could always talk to patients after that day with no hesitation.
Students, enjoy your embarrassments. Therapists, enjoy looking back to them. It's why you are who you are today.
Until next time,
--B.J.