Emergency trolley… what’s that?

Years ago, after the wetness behind my ears had started to dry, I decided to do a couple of agency shifts to earn a little extra money. Apart from the extra cash, I also gained an appreciation for my normal workmates and for my normal workplace.

My very first agency shift was the shift from hell – a carnival of WTF moments that made wonder if someone was playing some kind of joke on me and if I was being filmed. It was a shift that would end with me refusing to ever work in a particular hospital again; and questioning how it is that private patients really think that they get superior care in private hospitals.

I arrived on the medical specialty ward and set out to find one of the nurses to introduce myself and find out where I could stash my bag.

There were no nurses to be found. This was, in hindsight, to be an ominous sign…

After checking the entire ward, and knocking on a few doors, still no staff. So I went and waited at the nurses’ station. An orderly came along and asked me if I needed anything. I explained to him that I was the angency nurse for the afternoon and that I couldn’t find any of the nursing staff.

As it turned out, neither could he.

This was not good…

So the orderly decided to show me around the ward and point out the pan room, treatment room etc and how the call bell system worked. He showed me were I could leave my bag. Still there no nurses to be seen.

After the tour was over, I asked him where I could find the emergency trolley. He had no idea, and told me that I would have to ask one of the nurses.

I would, of course, have to find one first.

Finally a nurse appeared. I introduced myself. Her response was less than reassuring; showing the same flaccid interest that would be expected from a room full of blokes forced to watch feminine hygiene commercials. I asked her what I needed to do.

“I don’t know…” was her response. The shrug of her shoulders thruly was the icing on her cake of apathy.

“O…K…”, I was trying so hard to be pleasant, “can you tell me where I could find the emergency trolley then?”

“The wha’…?”

Oh my god, she was a dopey one.

“Can you tell me were your emergency trolley is?”

All I got was a blank look. I continued. “Your emergency trolley, dear. Crash cart? Crash trolley? The defib?”

A lightbulb went off in the dim recesses of her head, “Oh… that…”

“Yes. That. Where is it?”

“I dunno.”

The blank look of ineptitude on her face made it perfectly clear that she was, indeed, serious.

I left her and tried to find someone who had some idea of what they were doing. I found someone. Or so I thought. “Hey there. I’m Penguin. I’m your agency RN for this evening. Can you tell me where I could find the emergency trolley?”

She looked me up and down and replied, “You’re gunna haff to speak to Rhonda – she’s in charge.”

“OK… where can I find Rhonda?”

“I dunno.”

I could see a pattern forming… “Well, while we wait for Rhonda to appear, could you tell me where the emergency trolley is?”

“The what?”

“The emergency trolley… the defib?”

“Ohh… naaah…” was the response.

I was certain that this had to be some sort of joke. “Do you normally work here?” I asked. She did. And aparantly it was not of any concern to her that she didn’t know where the emergency equipment was.

At this point the delightful Rhonda appeared. Introductions were made, and before we could discuss allocations, I wanted to know exactly were the Packer Whacker and all the emergency goodies were. I asked where the emergency trolley was kept.

“The what?”

God fuck me dead, it was Groundhog Day. “The emergency trolley, Rhonda. Where do you guys keep your emergency trolley/crash cart/defib? Where, exactly?”

“What do you you want that for?”

As my right eyebrow soared into orbit, I tried to remain as diplomatic as possible. “Rhonda, in the interests of patient safety, I need you to show me exactly where I can find the emergency trolley, should it be required for an emergency this evening.”

“Oh, it’s down the hallway somewhere.”

“Rhonda, I don’t mean to be obtuse, but your use of the word somewhere does not fill me with confidence. Show me exactly where it is kept.”

You’d think that I pissed in her corn flakes by making her amble down the hallway.

“I think it’s in here”, she said as she opened up some sort of utility cupboard.

No darling, that’s not it.

Nor was it behind door number 2.

“You can’t be serious…” Oh, but she was.

Third time lucky…

I stood there wide-eyed, shaking my head. As politely as possible, I let dear Rhonda know that it was totally unacceptable for all three nurses on a ward – especially the Nurse-in-Charge – to have no idea of where the emergency tolley was kept. I couldn’t believe what I had just seen. In the back of my mind was a little voice, saying “eject eject eject”. Part of me thought that I should have just pulled the pin and refused to work in an area that appeared thus far to be hopelessly unsafe. The other part thought that I should stay for the sake of the patients.

I decided to stay. I wish I could say that things got better.

They did not…