[Phlebotamist shows up to draw blood.] "Who are you? What you doing?" "Here for labs, ma'am." "He has a PICC line." "Can we use that?" "It goes into a large vein which is where blood is located."
"If someone tells me my son has developed diabetes I will throat-punch them. I like you. I don't want to throat-punch you. But I will do it. Don't draw the short straw." (The resident then reassured me that Eli was in no way developing diabetes but might still need insulin in the short term.)
"I understand YOUR have a policy against drawing labs off PICC lines, but I don't personally have a policy against it. I'll be happy to get the blood from the line for you." That particular resident took it rather personally and started fear-mongering me about kidney toxicity. Not informing me of risks, fear-mongering. There's a vast difference. I looked at Eli and looked at her and told her, "He's fine. Our doctor will address it when he gets here in a few hours."
"This place does not make me suicidal, it makes homicidal. I'm not going to kill myself, I'm going to kill one of you."
"I do not possess the forebearance to talk to one more resident." Those were dark times. I eventually banned that resident from seeing us because in a month of daily contact he never once actually listened to me.
"Really?? More steroids?? Do you really think they're going to do anything??" That one I actually texted to our captain doctor. A day later I told him how pained I was to say it, but the steroids appeared to be making a very small difference (and nothing else makes any difference). He then told me about a paper he published in '86 basically about this scenario and the effect of high dose steroids. The man is good.
"I already told Eli he was done being poked today. If they want this test, the doctors need to come down here and wake him up and tell him themselves they need more blood. I'm not doing it." (Spoiler alert: those particular doctors were conveniently off the floor and unable to fulfill their duties. Although the nurse and I did tell Eli it was the mean doctors who lied to us that made the poke happen because that is 100% what happened that day.) Which was shortly followed by:
"If one more person comes to the room to do something to Eli and I don't know about it before they arrive, I am refusing it. I don't care what it is or why. If you order something and you didn't tell me to my face about it, then you better walk down here and do that. Or it's not happening."
It was rather fitting that on our final night on a main floor of the hospital Eli had to be woken up twice for insulin shots. Now that he's in the bone marrow transplant unit the care is much more patient centered. AND there are no interns or residents who don't possibly have the time to read the novel that is Eli's chart and understand the complicated issues that need to be weighed before making decisions. I'm really relieved that I won't have to spend every moment on guard in order to protect my traumatized kid from more unnecessary trauma. In BMT there is a small team of highly trained doctors who have an intricate understanding of each patient's case and history. They communicate well with the caregivers. They have protocols and policies to protect patients and keep them as healthy and comfortable as possible.
So as ridiculous and obnoxious as I have been for the last two months, there is absolutely no reason for it to continue. Now I get to actually be a part of the team and focus on taking care of my kid instead of fighting them all the time. BMT is a completely different world and I am so thankful!
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