department at the university where I work for a

referral and was delighted to fi nd that they

could suture it in the offi ce. After explaining

that I was still actively bleeding, I declined their

late afternoon appointment and was fi nally told

they would see me upon my arrival. My lacera-

tion was closed by a third-year medical student

(with my permission and after two attending

physicians checked it over), and I was given a

tetanus shot and Vicodin. During the whole

procedure I was sitting in a chair directly in

front of the door, during which time three

individuals tripped and fell coming in. It was

quite entertaining.

I was instructed to call if the incision red-

dened or became edematous—and when I

asked how I was to assess an incision in the back

of my head, the attending looked at me quizzi-

cally and asked “Don’t you have friends?” Any-

way, I worked that day and gave out candy that

night without incident and medicated myself

for mild head pain with Tylenol.

Over the next few weeks everything seemed

pretty normal. No headaches—just a busy life.

Then the fi rst week of December I went to

Chicago for a meeting and noticed that I

tripped a couple of times on the sidewalks and I

also experienced some dizziness—enough so

that the day I came back (Wednesday) I went

back to Family Medicine and was ultimately

diagnosed with an inner ear problem, given an

anti-motion sickness drug/antihistamine and

w

When Nurse Becomes Patient

Mary C. Brucker, CNM, DNSc, FACNM

When Daylight Savings Time ended last year, I

took the advice to “fall back” a little too literally.

On Halloween morning, while preparing for

work, I left the water running in the sink to

warm while I let the dogs out. When I returned

to the bathroom, I didn’t realize that the sink

had overfl owed onto the pseudomarble fl oor,

rendering it as slippery as an ice-skating rink. As

I entered the bathroom, my feet went upward

and my occiput (of course—the midwifery

connection) directly impacted the fl oor. I don’t

think I quite lost consciousness, but I broke the

skin and started bleeding. It was quite a mess,

with the blood and water swirling around.

I now had to fi gure out how to get the lac-

eration stitched up. Not wishing to spend the

day in the ER, I called the family medicine (continued on p. 266)

Not wishing to spend

the day in the ER, I

called the family

medicine department

at the university where

I work for a referral

and was delighted to

fi nd that they could

suture it in the offi ce

268 © 2006, AWHONN, the Association of Women’s Health, Obstetric and Neonatal Nurses Volume 10 Issue 3

scheduled for a CAT scan—just in case. I got

the scan on Friday, and at 5:15 that evening

I was thinking about going home when the

Family Medicine physician called me. When I

recognized his voice, I said, “Hey, how are

you?” and his response was, “Better than you.”

It turned out my CAT scan was abnormal and

he advised me to go directly to the ER to get

evaluated by the neurosurgeon on call. Knowing

how busy an ER is on Friday night, I opted to

go instead the next morning.

When I got there at 8:00 a.m., the neuro team

already was in surgery. I still didn’t have a clear

diagnosis and ended up sitting in the ER for

eight hours until a resident told me the attend-

ing had gone home and they would like to admit

me for evaluation. The decision was made for

me when the fourth-year resident turned to the

intern and asked him to plan my care, including

allowing him choice of my “routine” anticon-

vulsant without even talking to me. So I signed

out and went home (after a stop at a Mexican

restaurant, which had great therapeutic value!).

When I arrived home that evening, my

phone was ringing. My regular primary care

provider had heard of the issue and called to tell

me that he had looked at the scan and “didn’t

see anything wrong.” He suggested repeating it

and if it was abnormal he would arrange an

outpatient evaluation with a neurosurgeon.

This plan I liked.

So on the following Wednesday I actually

received an MRI instead of a CAT scan. I was

still having only minor symptoms—occasional

transient dizziness at worst. I was still driving

every day and working. In fact, the primary care

provider kept saying I must be okay because I

was driving and doing activities of daily living.

In reality, it was probably a guardian angel

protecting me and others on the road.

On Thursday I got a call asking me when I

would like a visit with the neurosurgeon. When

I asked for someone to tell me the diagnosis and

explain what the MRI revealed, the offi ce staff

put me on hold and came back, telling me that

the physician had said “the same as the CAT

scan.” In frustration, I called the neurosur-

geon’s offi ce directly to arrange an appoint-

ment. By this time I was pretty certain it was a

subdural hematoma.

I fi nally did get a diagnosis—yes, it was a

subdural, but I got an extra holiday present—

namely it was two! Seems the slow bleed was

under both parietal bones due to a contra coup

(sounds fancy, doesn’t it?).

On Monday before Christmas, I started

having major issues walking. I was actually

shuffl ing more than walking and so I went to

the ER. Two hours after I arrived, I couldn’t

walk at all. It was a funny feeling, similar, I

suspect, to what people who’ve had a stroke

might experience. When I was told they wanted

to admit me to a larger hospital, I anticipated

I’d have to take a wheelchair to the car but, no,

I had to take an ambulance! It was the most

expensive ride of my life. When I got there, I

was admitted to the ICU.

The next day, I had a craniotomy. It went

well, although they had to do two long fl aps

instead of little burr holes and they had to shave

my beautiful hair for which I had just paid for a

stylish cut and highlights less than a week before.

Apparently there were some issues in the

ICU. When I awoke after anesthesia, the nurse

asked me if she could get me anything. I quickly

replied, “Brad Pitt,” since I always fi gured I

should ask for what I really want when asked.

Apparently I was deemed hallucinating and it

took the testimony of friends to convince the

doctors that I really was okay.

It seems those pesky clots tend to squish the

brain, so I got to stay on my back in Trendel-

berg for days! Every time the neurosurgeon

came in, he found me slightly on my side and

he would yell at me. Also, I tended to slide

down to the head of the bed (with my head), so

he would simultaneously yell and pull me up by

the ankles to the end of the bed. And to top it

all off I ended up with a small decubitus in the

sacral area after only a week (maybe it was

because those sheets couldn’t have had a

threadcount of more than 10).

I really tried to be good. I kept the lights and

TV on so I wouldn’t sleep too soundly and

change positions (I particularly like to sleep on

my side, and with a couple of pillows). But one

night I must have really zonked out. It was

about 1:30 in the morning and I had slid down

so far that my head got caught between the

mattress and the headboard. I had a large tur-

ban dressing with two drains, one of which had

intertwined on the side rail. Also, the anti-DVT

apparatus on my calves had gotten stuck at the

end of the other side rail. My lovely patient

266 AWHONN Lifelines Volume 10 Issue 3

Mary C. Brucker, CNM,

DNSc, FACNM, is director

of the Women’s Health

Education Program at

the University of Texas

Southwestern Medical

Center in Dallas, TX.

DOI: 10.1111/j.1552-6356.2006.00049.x

gown had succumbed to gravity and

had tented over my head. I was so

confi ned that I couldn’t reach the call

light. However, I was able to sneak my

hand out from under the gown, on to

the bed table and reach the phone. I

dialed “0” by Braille and asked for the

fi fth-fl oor nursing station. I was very

friendly and identifi ed myself as “Mary

in 5003.” However, I made the mistake

of saying “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up”

even though it wasn’t quite accurate (a

friend of mine who works in an ICU

later told me that it was equivalent to

walking on a plane and saying I had a

bomb). About eight health care provid-

ers came running in and started grab-

bing me from all directions. It was

quite an event. Eventually I was freed

from my contortion. The next night

when I had another CAT scan, even the

scan person asked me if I was the “one”

who got stuck. I guess I had acquired a

reputation.

After Trendelberg, I was fi nally

allowed to lay fl at one day and sit up

the next (Christmas Eve). Instead of

just “sitting up,” I pushed it by walking

with a walker, taking a shower, etc., so

that I was able to be released on Christ-

mas Day. What a wonderful present!

Unfortunately, I looked like Uncle

Fester from the “Addams Family” and

even glinted with the staples in the

incisions, which looked more like train

tracks. I insisted we stop on the way

home so I could get some Sudoku

puzzles—and I did 50 the fi rst week I

was home, giving me some reassurance

that I think I’m pretty okay.

As I write this, my hair is growing

back in and I am now referred to by

friends as a “Chia Pet.” I’m back at

work and except for an occasional mild

dizzy spell or headache, am doing well

and I now have a whole wardrobe of

scarves. And you know what—they

don’t look half bad.

June | July 2006 AWHONN Lifelines 267