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Cheers and welcome to the S-BAR!

Cheers and welcome to The S-BAR!


SBAR is for those who live, work, study, love, or simply wonder about the world of healthcare. Invitation to all nurses, physicians, APNs, PAs, students, researchers, techs, caregivers, patients, family members, and anyone curious about what happens behind the scenes.

Here, you’ll find stories from the bedside and beyond. I will share reflections on nursing, clinical research, memory and aging, yoga, writing, grief, gratitude, burnout, healing, and the strange, beautiful business of being human. You are invited to share your stories as well.

Pull up a chair. Read, reflect, ask questions, share your own experiences, or simply listen for a while.

There is room for all of us here.

Welcome to SBAR.

Anotha one

“Anotha One”

I still pick up the occasional ER nursing shift to maintain my per-diem status for funzies. Well, fun is probably an overstatement these days, but I genuinely enjoy the people I work with. The emergency department sits in one of the most charming waterfront towns in New Jersey, and after working in several hospitals over the past two decades, I’ve learned that every ER develops its own culture. That culture often reflects the community it serves.

One thing, however, is universal: patients struggling with opioid dependence or seeking opioids can be found in every emergency department.

Early in my career, these encounters frustrated me. Now they mostly make me sad. What kind of life is it when your days revolve around returning to the same emergency department, hoping that this time someone will order morphine, or, as many patients have phrased it over the years, “the one that starts with a D”….

Over the years, I’ve also watched emergency medicine evolve. Providers have become much more thoughtful about opioid prescribing and far more comfortable setting boundaries. Yet consistency matters. If even ONE provider repeatedly reinforces the behavior by prescribing opioids when they are not clinically indicated, patients quickly learn who is most likely to say yes and often return asking for that person by name….

One evening, EMS transported in a young man via stretcher and immediately recognized that I was an unfamiliar face. The EMT as well as several experienced nurses quietly prepared me of what I might be walking into. He was well known to the department. He lived nearby, frequently requested specific providers, was known to name drop a specific hospital leader, and on previous visits had become loud and aggressive enough to require security.

When I introduced myself, he barely opened his eyes. Curled onto his left side, clutching an emesis bag, he described a long and complicated medical history involving persistent abdominal pain and multiple gastrointestinal and vascular evaluations. He explained that specialists had sent him from one office to another without answers. His frustration seemed genuine.

His chart revealed repeated emergency department visits over the preceding weeks. Each visit had included complete work-up with repeat labs and CT scans of the abdomen and pelvis. Again and again, the results were reassuring. No acute surgical process. No obstruction. No perforation. No explanation for the severity of his symptoms.

As I reviewed his imaging history, I couldn’t help but wonder whether anyone had ever talked with him about cumulative radiation exposure. Repeating CT scans can absolutely be necessary, but they are not without consequence. The difficult question for many ER providers isn’t simply whether to order another scan. It is whether we could safely avoid one without overlooking the rare visit when a familiar patient truly has developed a new and significant pathology… you remember the story of the boy who called wolf.

Cases like this remind me just how difficult emergency medicine can be. Deciding not to order another CT scan is often much harder than ordering one. We constantly balance the possibility of missing an evolving, life-threatening condition against the very real harms of repeated imaging, unnecessary radiation exposure, incidental findings, and low-value care.

I was proud of the physician assistant caring for this patient. From the outset, expectations were set respectfully but clearly. Opioids would not be prescribed. His vital signs were stable, labs were reassuring, and he had undergone another CT scan just three days earlier without acute findings. Based on the available clinical evidence, there was no indication to repeat the imaging and again expose this young man of more radiation that will put him at higher and higher risk of developing cancer!

The response was predictable. His volume increased with profanities, threats, and name dropping. Security was called once again not because we had failed to provide care, but because the discharge had become verbally abusive. He was again encouraged to continue following with his specialists and to establish care with pain management, where chronic pain can be evaluated and treated in a setting designed for ongoing management rather than emergency stabilization.

As I reflected on the encounter, one thought lingered: perhaps he returned because of inconsistency. On a previous visit, another provider had prescribed morphine. This visit was different. In healthcare, mixed messages can unintentionally reinforce repeated emergency department utilization, making future encounters even more difficult for everyone involved.

It’s tough. Clinician impressions of “drug-seeking behavior” may lead to bias and may actually represent undertreated pain, opioid withdrawal, or another unmet medical need. Patients DO deserve compassionate, evidence-based assessments…not assumptions..

At the same time, compassion does not mean abandoning clinical judgment. Emergency clinicians should avoid allowing assumptions about drug-seeking behavior to replace thoughtful decision-making. Every patient deserves to have their pain acknowledged and an appropriate evaluation performed.

The challenge is balancing the risk of missing significant pathology when repeated presentations are dismissed with the harms of unnecessary CT imaging and cumulative radiation exposure. Sometimes the hardest decision in emergency medicine isn’t deciding what to do. It’s deciding what not to do…

That decision isn’t always easy. The fear of missing a diagnosis – and the potential liability that follows – can keep providers awake at night. Defensive medicine, or as we call it “CYA” (cover your ass) medicine is real, and ordering “just one more CT” is often the path of least resistance…

But this night, the right decision wasn’t the easy decision.

As he walked out of the emergency department yelling, cursing, and threatening us with yet another name drop, I couldn’t help but think…

Anotha one.

scANxiety

After registering and receiving my ID bracelet, which is lazily placed obnoxiously loose, I find myself in a waiting room full of elderly people requiring wheelchairs, oxygen, and assistance from family members. I silently pray that I one day reach such an age. Other than a bizarre head and neck cancer that was surgically excised three and a half years ago, I’ve been remarkably healthy. I arrive early and anticipate a wait. I brought the novel Rick Moody suggested, despite the fact that I almost never read fiction. Still, I’m always willing to try new things. I glance around the room and find it amusing that I am both the youngest person here and the only one not looking at a phone. 

Three pages later, my name is called.That was quick.A nice gentleman in blue scrubs – about 5’8”, blue eyes, gray hair, still youngish-looking, greets me with an easy smile and leads me back. As we weave through the maze of hallways in a hospital that was once so familiar to me, I ask if I can stop at the restroom.“Sure,” he says. “It’s right here. Take your time.”“baby bladder”, I say. When I emerge, he’s holding my identification stickers.“I couldn’t help but notice,” he says, glancing at my date of birth, “you don’t look 47 one bit.”I laugh.“Thanks.”“I probably shouldn’t be saying that.” He says“No,” I say giggling. “It’s fine. You can say it all you want” We arrive at the mobile MRI trailer outside the hospital. This is where I always have my scans. I like consistency. Same machine. Same location. Same radiology group reading the images.

Below my right ear the MRI tech places a sticky “tag” with a marker to identify the site of my previous surgery to remove the cancer. I lie flat and look up at the ceiling panels above me: a light blue sky with puffy clouds and flowering trees bursting with pink and red blossoms.It looks remarkably similar to the day outside…..86 degrees. Sunny. A light breeze….Perfection. 

The MRI technologist is kind and reassuring. He explains that I’ll need an IV for contrast. A blue tourniquet is placed around my left arm. Not nearly as tight as I know it needs to be.“just a little bite”, he states…The 22 gauge needle pierces the sensitive skin of my left antecubital fossa. Sharp teeth, I thought.“Sorry,” he says as he advances a little deeper.Then I hear the familiar snap of the needle retracting.I glance toward the catheter. No blood return…“I have to take it out. I’m sorry.“It’s okay,” I say. “This happens all the time. Nobody ever gets me on the first stick.”Maybe I should stop manifesting that to the universe.“Where do they usually get you?” he asks. This isn’t usual… I think to myself. I point to my right arm.“I just had bloodwork there yesterday. She said it was a good vein. Just a little deep.”Another tourniquet. Still not tight enough.“Here we go.”Another little bite. This time the needle enters my right arm. I wait for something encouraging. Instead he immediately withdraws.“I’m bailing,” he says.Then he adds, “I need reinforcement.“Reinforcement?” My supervisor.”I anxiously laugh, “Your supervisor does IVs?” In my experience, supervisors are people who no longer get their hands dirty. A few moments later an energetic man appears.“You didn’t bring your good veins today,” he says with a huge smile.“I don’t HAVE good veins to bring.” I respond.He studies both arms. An uncapped saline flush that was resting on my blanket rolls onto the table my right arm rests on. I kindly, yet nervously ask him to please not use that on me. He picks it up, analyzing it while rotating it left and right, likely annoyed. “Ah, no cap, he says, that’s the problem”. Quickly replacing it. Then he warns me.“My tourniquet is going to be exceptionally tight.” The blue rubber tourniquet practically disappears into my upper arm. He reinforces it with a second one 5-6 inches below on my forearm and examines both my antecubital veins and the veins on the back of my hand.“Ah the ol double tourniquet”, I say. ”Here we go” He says, Stab, into the same right antecubital area. Nothing. Out it comes. “The hand looks good,” he says.I look and agree. I don’t need a power injector for this scan. The hand should work just fine. I wish they’d started there from the beginning. Finally, 4 sticks later, I can breathe. The sensation of the cool saline flush travels up my arm, into my chest, and somehow into the blood vessels of my tongue. I can taste it. That means it’s in. I look up. MRI tech on left and supervisor on right they each take an earplug and shoving them into respected ears. Finally, a cage-like enclosures is placed over my face and I am slowly transported into the tunnel. The MRI begins. The sounds are bizarre and oddly musical, like the opening sequence of a Pink Floyd song.

Beep.Beep.Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick. Rrrr. Rrrr. Rrrr. Soon my brain begins composing its own soundtrack.Ba ba ba ba ba. Bang. Bang. Bang….”Onomatopoeia!” I think to myself…I wish he hadn’t just warned me not to swallow or cough during the scan. My mouth begins to accumulate with my own saliva…Forty-five minutes later, the test is complete.The tech walks me toward the exit and gives me directions even though I worked at this hospital for more than fifteen years.“Thank you,” I say anyway. I step outside into the warm, June sunshine. The MRI is over. Now comes the hardest part, stage two of scanxiety.  The what ifs. The waiting. The checking of email. The refreshing of patient portals. The bargaining. The worry. The rabbit holes. Until the moment the future becomes the present and uncertainty has a name……

Why Are Our New Nurses Burning Out So Quickly?

Lately, I’ve met several young nurses who are already burnt out, and honestly, it makes me sad.

They invested so much to get here. Years of prerequisites. Nursing school. Studying. Tears. Semester after semester. Clinicals. Externships. Preceptorships. Residencies. Countless exams. Sacrificed weekends. Missed holidays. Anxiety. Self-doubt. Finally earning those two letters after their names! RN!

And then, after hanging in there for only a year or two, some are already wondering if they made a mistake.

They’re exhausted and questioning whether they can do this for another thirty years.

Some are leaving the bedside to explore case management positions and some wondering if they should even renew their licenses.

Why is this happening?

Why is it the culture?

Are nurses still “eating their young,” or are experienced nurses simply struggling under the weight of impossible workloads themselves?

Is it chronic understaffing? 12 hr shifts that routinely become 14? Missed meals? Moral distress? Documentation demands? Feeling unsupported? Being expected to give endlessly while having very little left to give?

I don’t pretend to have the answers, but I have almost 20 years of experience and have witnessed….

I do wonder what healthcare would look like if we truly prioritized the wellbeing of the people caring for everyone else.

Could we mentor more intentionally?
Normalize asking for help?
Protect and prioritize breaks?
Dare I say, Improve staffing?
Speak kinder and more professionally to one another?

We wish to be viewed as professional, yet we are our own worst enemies at times….

Unit vs unit… what happened to a “walk in my shoes” experience that all nurses should attend, and not just once.

I don’t know….
but I’d love to hear your thoughts…

And are we willing to admit that some parts of the system have been unsustainable for a long time? And WHY HAVE WE BEEN SILENT?

The S-BAR

Cheers! ☕🍵🍷🥂 (Coffee, tea, cocktails…whatever suits you.)

Welcome to the SBAR – a virtual huddle where we can talk through the big things, the little things, and everything in between, all from the comfort of our own homes and perhaps with a favorite beverage in hand.

Read, reflect, ask questions, share your experiences, or simply listen for a while. There is room for all of us here.

Thank you for stopping by.

This bar is open 24/7.

This is me!