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I thought this was an excellent article. The guy's sarcasm is what makes the article interesting, but there is truth in his words.
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How Many Anvils Can You Juggle?
Guest Editorial
ACEP News
March 2006
By David f. Baehren, MD
The triage nurses and I have a love-hate relationship.
I love to give them the business when I am working, and they hate me when I do it.
Really, it's not all that bad, but I do sometimes take issue with them about some of the decisions that flow my way--always downhill.
Possibly in your practice you have had similar experiences. If you have not seized the opportunity to take the triage nurse to task--or better yet the charge nurse--you should try it.
The next time they send you a stubbed toe that could have gone to the fast track but didn't because the diastolic blood pressure was 95, call them on it. Say it right out loud. You'll feel better.
It's best to try this late in your shift, because you will enjoy every drunk, hypochondriac, and drug seeker for the remainder of your day. Be prepared, because these special thanks can flow into the next day or two as well.
I'll say right now that the triage nurse has a tough job, and I'm glad I don't do it. It takes a seasoned and skilled nurse to do it well. That said, I'm typing away.
Whoever thought up the "30-minute guarantee" unknowingly sent what little joy there was in triage to the same black hole that consumes manners, common sense, and lost socks.
Now every nurse manager in the universe is under the gun from the CEO to "do something about waiting times--or else."
The "or else" implies either unemployment or the institution of their local version of the 30-minute guarantee. Patients could be guaranteed free movie tickets, free gasoline, or 10% off a colonoscopy if the doctor fails to meet the 30-minute goal.
Of course, everyone knows that patients wait because the doctor is not working fast enough. The solution is to give the doctor more patients to see simultaneously.
Never mind that one-third of the department is full of admitted patients, and the rest are waiting for the lab to get around to calling to say that the dreaded hemolysis happened in the tubes of blood sent 2 hours prior. Arrrgh! And the CEO couldn't find ... never mind.
So, the immediate solution to this thorny problem seems to be to shoehorn as many patients as possible into the hallway.
For a thousand years, I will maintain that patients are relatively happy in their blissful ignorance in the lobby. Move them back to the patient care area where they can be ignored in person, and they really start to get annoyed.
Their ringside seat also makes them instant experts on what the nurses and doctors should be doing with their time. Apparently, talking to consultants on the telephone and reviewing a chart while seated are not acceptable activities. God help you if you eat a handful of nuts to prevent starvation while your lunch from 2 days before grows mold in the refrigerator in the break room.
I believe that patients with 3 months of constipation are best served by a comfortable seat in the lobby, a magazine that was printed since their last haircut, and a tall glass of Metamucil. Sometimes that is the best you can do until a bed (in an actual room with a door) becomes available. (My apologies to those who still practice in places that have treatment areas without four walls and a door.)
As others have commented, I never took the boards for hallway medicine. And there is never a group of Boy Scouts to stand with their backs to the patient in a semicircle, fingers in their ears, when you need them. This would be nice, because it would solve the problem of taking a sexual history and doing a rectal examination.
So, you try to get things started on the 20-year-old ambulance rider who has been vomiting at home for an entire 3 hours. You do this while you should be trying to discharge the patient with the ankle sprain who could have waited in the lobby to go to the fast track when it opened. But no, this patient would be seen "faster" if he came right back to see you.
Of course, he would already be home by now watching ESPN if he "waited" for the fast track. Instead he's watching ESPN on the TV in his exam room and eating a sandwich while the 20 year-old vomits in a pink bucket in the hall.
Did you ever have one of those days when you kept the lobby empty and had no more than eight patients at any one time? I remember a day in 1992 ... it was great. Everything clicks on days like that, and you can see a lot of people. Everyone is happy, and the patients say "thank you" and write nice letters about you. The nurses smile and think you are smart.
There is a reason for that. Any circus juggler will tell you that there are a finite number of balls that can be put in the air simultaneously. Three are easy; things get hairy with more than 10. Problems and mistakes happen when someone tosses in an anvil (patient with acute coronary syndrome and ventricular arrhythmias), and all the other balls drop to the ground. A few roll under the Pyxis.
Everyone has a threshold where productivity falls as the number of active patients goes up. I think mine is 8.6, give or take a tenth. I could make you a graph, but that kind of thing makes my brain hurt (as my third grader likes to say). I've tried to communicate this thought. Possibly you could do better.
What sense does it make to pile more nonacute patients into the treatment area when the physician says (in a pleasant and reasoned manner) that it will slow him or her down?
Putting these patients there may make the triage nurse feel better, improve the "door-to-doctor" time, and keep the CEO off the nurse manager's back, but it doesn't help the patient. And it doesn't help the doctor.
But this antiquated idea is not often spoken of these days. Emergency patient flow is complicated. Few understand it, and those who don't will continue to try to "improve" it by driving you to distraction unless there is reasoned discussion with someone who makes a lot more money than the poor triage nurse.
They had a discussion like this about bloodletting once.
Dr. Baehren is the author of "Roads to Hilton Head Island" and practices emergency medicine in Toledo, Ohio.
--
How Many Anvils Can You Juggle?
Guest Editorial
ACEP News
March 2006
By David f. Baehren, MD
The triage nurses and I have a love-hate relationship.
I love to give them the business when I am working, and they hate me when I do it.
Really, it's not all that bad, but I do sometimes take issue with them about some of the decisions that flow my way--always downhill.
Possibly in your practice you have had similar experiences. If you have not seized the opportunity to take the triage nurse to task--or better yet the charge nurse--you should try it.
The next time they send you a stubbed toe that could have gone to the fast track but didn't because the diastolic blood pressure was 95, call them on it. Say it right out loud. You'll feel better.
It's best to try this late in your shift, because you will enjoy every drunk, hypochondriac, and drug seeker for the remainder of your day. Be prepared, because these special thanks can flow into the next day or two as well.
I'll say right now that the triage nurse has a tough job, and I'm glad I don't do it. It takes a seasoned and skilled nurse to do it well. That said, I'm typing away.
Whoever thought up the "30-minute guarantee" unknowingly sent what little joy there was in triage to the same black hole that consumes manners, common sense, and lost socks.
Now every nurse manager in the universe is under the gun from the CEO to "do something about waiting times--or else."
The "or else" implies either unemployment or the institution of their local version of the 30-minute guarantee. Patients could be guaranteed free movie tickets, free gasoline, or 10% off a colonoscopy if the doctor fails to meet the 30-minute goal.
Of course, everyone knows that patients wait because the doctor is not working fast enough. The solution is to give the doctor more patients to see simultaneously.
Never mind that one-third of the department is full of admitted patients, and the rest are waiting for the lab to get around to calling to say that the dreaded hemolysis happened in the tubes of blood sent 2 hours prior. Arrrgh! And the CEO couldn't find ... never mind.
So, the immediate solution to this thorny problem seems to be to shoehorn as many patients as possible into the hallway.
For a thousand years, I will maintain that patients are relatively happy in their blissful ignorance in the lobby. Move them back to the patient care area where they can be ignored in person, and they really start to get annoyed.
Their ringside seat also makes them instant experts on what the nurses and doctors should be doing with their time. Apparently, talking to consultants on the telephone and reviewing a chart while seated are not acceptable activities. God help you if you eat a handful of nuts to prevent starvation while your lunch from 2 days before grows mold in the refrigerator in the break room.
I believe that patients with 3 months of constipation are best served by a comfortable seat in the lobby, a magazine that was printed since their last haircut, and a tall glass of Metamucil. Sometimes that is the best you can do until a bed (in an actual room with a door) becomes available. (My apologies to those who still practice in places that have treatment areas without four walls and a door.)
As others have commented, I never took the boards for hallway medicine. And there is never a group of Boy Scouts to stand with their backs to the patient in a semicircle, fingers in their ears, when you need them. This would be nice, because it would solve the problem of taking a sexual history and doing a rectal examination.
So, you try to get things started on the 20-year-old ambulance rider who has been vomiting at home for an entire 3 hours. You do this while you should be trying to discharge the patient with the ankle sprain who could have waited in the lobby to go to the fast track when it opened. But no, this patient would be seen "faster" if he came right back to see you.
Of course, he would already be home by now watching ESPN if he "waited" for the fast track. Instead he's watching ESPN on the TV in his exam room and eating a sandwich while the 20 year-old vomits in a pink bucket in the hall.
Did you ever have one of those days when you kept the lobby empty and had no more than eight patients at any one time? I remember a day in 1992 ... it was great. Everything clicks on days like that, and you can see a lot of people. Everyone is happy, and the patients say "thank you" and write nice letters about you. The nurses smile and think you are smart.
There is a reason for that. Any circus juggler will tell you that there are a finite number of balls that can be put in the air simultaneously. Three are easy; things get hairy with more than 10. Problems and mistakes happen when someone tosses in an anvil (patient with acute coronary syndrome and ventricular arrhythmias), and all the other balls drop to the ground. A few roll under the Pyxis.
Everyone has a threshold where productivity falls as the number of active patients goes up. I think mine is 8.6, give or take a tenth. I could make you a graph, but that kind of thing makes my brain hurt (as my third grader likes to say). I've tried to communicate this thought. Possibly you could do better.
What sense does it make to pile more nonacute patients into the treatment area when the physician says (in a pleasant and reasoned manner) that it will slow him or her down?
Putting these patients there may make the triage nurse feel better, improve the "door-to-doctor" time, and keep the CEO off the nurse manager's back, but it doesn't help the patient. And it doesn't help the doctor.
But this antiquated idea is not often spoken of these days. Emergency patient flow is complicated. Few understand it, and those who don't will continue to try to "improve" it by driving you to distraction unless there is reasoned discussion with someone who makes a lot more money than the poor triage nurse.
They had a discussion like this about bloodletting once.
Dr. Baehren is the author of "Roads to Hilton Head Island" and practices emergency medicine in Toledo, Ohio.