Nomadic Nurse Diaries

Dear Gods of Eye Irritations and Bad Paper Towels,

There’s something about eyeballs that just freaks me out. I mean, I can handle blood, guts, broken bones—bring it on! But the moment someone mentions anything involving eyes, my stomach does a little flip like it’s auditioning for Cirque du Soleil.

So naturally, when the sergeant strolls into my office and says, “Hey, we’re pulling a guy out for an eye issue,” my gut immediately goes into panic mode. Fantastic. Nothing like a rogue eyelash or piece of dirt to ruin your day and mine. But hey, I’m a professional, right? Time to slap on a brave face (emphasis on slap) and handle this like the fearless nurse I am. Eye stuff? No problem. (That’s a lie, it’s always a problem.)

I gather my supplies, including the world’s least absorbent paper towel—seriously, this stuff has the consistency of cardboard—and head over to the inmate with the red eye that looks like it’s been through some sort of battlefield. Poor guy has clearly been rubbing it like a madman. His sclera (yes, I’m using the fancy word because I’m a professional) is bright red, and I’m trying not to squirm because, you know, eyes.

“Alright, let’s flush this bad boy out,” I say with way more confidence than I actually feel. I whip out the saline and my trusty syringe, and then the fun begins. I hold the cheap brown paper towel under his eye, like I’m catching tears of joy… except they’re not tears, and I’m not joyful. I start flushing his eye like there’s no tomorrow, using a technique I’d like to call pretending I know what I’m doing.

Here’s the thing though: the paper towel? Totally useless. It’s basically a sponge that forgot how to sponge, so instead of absorbing anything, the water is just dripping straight down onto the poor guy’s jumpsuit. Oops. Sorry, dude. But he’s super nice about it, thankfully. “Thanks, nurse. I appreciate it,” he says, all polite and grateful, while I’m internally thinking, Please don’t let this eyeball situation get worse because I really can’t handle it if it does.

I ask him to blink, check his vision (which, of course, is perfectly fine because life likes to mess with me), and continue flushing the heck out of his eye. He’s still complaining that it’s irritating him, but I mean, whose eye wouldn’t be after you’ve turned it into a mini Slip ’n Slide with saline? We wrap it up, and I tell him to keep an eye on—pun intended—any changes, and try not to rub it. Easier said than done, right?

Two days later, I check in on him, bracing myself for the possibility that I may have created a one-eyed pirate situation. But nope. He’s all smiles, like nothing ever happened. “Hey nurse, eye’s all good now! Vision’s normal, thanks again.” Oh sure, now everything is fine. Glad you’re seeing clearly after I had to face my eyeball phobia head-on.

Moral of the story: Eyeballs are gross, cheap paper towels are even worse, and sometimes, being a nurse means you have to deal with your weird medical fears while making sure you don’t accidentally turn your patient into a wet mop.

Love,

Your Reluctant Eye-Flushing Expert Nurse