I am home this morning with Arlina, nursing her though a bout of abdominal pain. It started yesterday while I was at work, but she didn't tell me until after 5, when the doctor's office had already closed. So I came home and found her lying on the sofa, writhing in pain.
Sometimes I wish I wasn't a nurse. I want to be ignorant of all but what is absolutely necessary for me to know. I want to call the doctor's office and tell them that I don't know what is happening, only that my wife is suffering, and could they please do something. But I can't.
Instead, I assess her pain--all the questions that I have been trained to ask. Sharp or dull, steady, intermittent, stabbing squeezing. "Point with one finger where it hurts the worst".
I take out my stethoscope and listen to each quadrant in turn. I palpate, percuss and poke. I take her temperature, and review the meds she has taken today.
I call the on-call doctor and share my findings with him. He is always appreciative of the thoroughness of my exam. We discuss possibilities and agree on a plan. He hangs up and I go in to try and help her through this. The husband stands in the corner while the nurse does what he has to do.