January went by in a blur of kleenex, cough drops, and cold medicine. We kept colds and stomach bugs rotating through our house for way too many days. And, after trying to make an appointment just yesterday and hearing the lady tell me, “Yeah, we’ve had to reschedule for so many people, because of the flu and, you know, the norovirus,” I wanted to quarantine my family. Oh, I know the norovirus very well. That’s another story for another day. Believe me, the 2013 Norovirus is not a plague I’ll soon forget.
But here we are in 2015, and because of these darling little illnesses I am now prepared to offer you the best five tips for dealing with the worst patients of all time. It so happens that the worst patients of all time are, in order: my husband, my father and my sister. I’ve recently had all of them in my house – SICK – and in need of care. Here’s how it went down: Dad still refuses to admit he was sick at all (“just a little cough”). The Hubs came down with the The Cough and The Ick after nursing all the visiting Robinsons back to health after Christmas.
And Sister. Sister kept a horrific version of bronchitis for weeks that turned into pleurisy. After weeks of that mess, she called me pitiful and in need of a Super Nurse. I am a Super Nurse. I am also, if need be, a kidnapper. One look at her pitiful self and not-so-much-as a drop of broth in the house and I informed her, “Yeah, after we pick up your prescriptions, I’m grabbing some clothes and you’re coming back to Macon with us until you prove to me that you can function on your own. You’re officially kidnapped.” I set her up in the guest room, bossed her around a bit, and she was functional in a couple of days.
So, in case you have horrible patients in your house this cold season, try these gems:
- “I dont know where the remote is,” said as the TV is turned off. . .and you’re walking out of the room. . .and the patient has had enough cold medicine that he/she will soon fall asleep, if you can get him/her to stop watching mindless TV. Within minutes, they will get up and search for the remote, but will be overrun by the powers of cold medicine, which will force them to stop watching Walking Dead marathons and rest. Maybe you lied. Maybe you hid the remote. Whatever.
- “You don’t have to believe in it, just drink it.” This was gently said to Sister as she informed me that she did not believe in Emergen-C. Like there was a great moral dilemma happening before she drank a glass of orange flavored vitamin water. Like she hadn’t in the past depended on kimchi for healing a cold and coconut oil for healing . . . some other silly thing. Like I hadn’t been battling her to make her drink liquids every SINGLE moment since she arrived at this hospital of mine. Some preacher friend of mine will certainly have a gorgeous sermon illustration out of this. All I’ve got is this: When someone brings you a beverage on a tray and says it is what you need to drink, just DRINK it already.
- “I know you don’t have a fever. Why don’t you drink this, though,” and hand the patient a warm beverage filled with Tylenol, or whatever fits the bill. They will drink it. Promise. They will break that fever that they definitely don’t have.
- “Don’t make me post this picture!” This is a threat you won’t actually use, but it will motivate. While the patient is looking a MESS of mess, take a picture. Have it ready to show the patient, should they become beligerent and refuse to do what she really needs to do, like eating the dang soup you made or showering or going to BED, for the LOVE. You simply say, you have three seconds to _________ or I post this one. It sounds ugly, but really you’re just trying to get your loved one well again.
- “There are very few things that actually can’t be lysoled or thrown in the washing machine.” Those silly labels and Pinterest boards, all telling you these frightening stories about how your furniture/fabric/carpet/
flooring will ruin if you use harsh chemicals. Those instructions for how to make natural cleaning solutions out of lemons and love and sunshine, they’re cute. But when you are OVER the germs and ready to get things clean, then you get yourself a truckload of lysol wipes, throw anything that has a fabric into the washing machine and get to scrubbing. I wouldn’t suggest this as a regular practice, but one swipe probably won’t ruin anything. And it will make things smell better. And if it doesn’t, well, we call that discoloration a “distressed” look. Slap that on your Pinterest boards, folks.
I’m a lovely nurse. Really. What can I say? My patients are all healed. And I make no apologies; I will kidnap, bring you soup, and force you to take whatever medicines normal people should take.
So, what have you done to take care of the patients in your life?
