Interfacility transport on an elderly alz pt from the hospital floor to a nursing facility. When we arrived, we knew we were in for it because the nurses started yelling "Oh thank GOD, EMS is here!" when they saw us. So, upon taking the report, we learn that she's advanced alzheimers, has a history of hitting, biting, and spitting, and being generally coocoo for cocoa puffs. The nurses thank us for coming for her and wish us good luck as they hand us the packet.
We walk in, introduce ourselves, and find our pt laying on the bed mumbling incoherently about "the weathertub" (weather tub), and one stressed out family around her. We load her onto the stretcher, take her out to the truck pretty much without event, and begin transport. As soon as the doors shut, she begins to strip, just like any good psych pt instinctively knows to. I tell her that she doesn't need to do that, to keep her clothes on, and to just relax. Of course, this helps nothing, so I grab a sheet and cover her up with it and then fix the abdomen buckle, which she's worked down to her knees, and the chest buckle, which she's worked up to her neck. As soon as I do these things, she looks at me like I'd just slapped her and continues mumbling about the weathertub as if she's rationalizing the insult out. After a bit, of her continuing to attempt to strip and me continuing to cover her back up, she turns her attentions to the wall of shelves and sliding-glass cabinets where our pt care items are stored and attempts to open one of the cabinets with her frail old hands for a few minutes before exclaiming that she couldn't get the cabinet to open, and me returning fire with a relieved "Ohyesss, that's quite alright ma'am."
She then proceeds on to classic Alzheimers and begins yelling for people that aren't in the truck, and gives up when she doesn't get an answer. After a few rounds of that, she cycles back to trying to strip down. Finally, after 30 long minutes of this, we arrive at our destination, fix her up and cover her back up, bring her inside, and are forced to deal with her continued efforts to strip while we ask the nurses to point us to where she's supposed to go. Of course, because we're asking some nursing facility staff to help or do work, it's like asking cattle to do dishes- they just stare at you and continue to absent-mindedly chew on whatever is set before them. This continues for a minute before I ask "Please?" in a "NOW, PLEASE?!" tone. We're then led to her room, lower her down even to the bed, undo the straps, the whole 9 yards. Then, as we go to do our sheet draw, I take my place at her right shoulder and fail to notice that she's reached across with her left hand and grabbed hold of the rail of our stretcher. We initiate the draw and find that she's stopped in mid-draw with a deathgrip on our stretcher while she's proclaiming "No! NO!" Fortunately, we're able to, only temporarily of course, safely let her lay on the edge of both beds because we can get the two close enough together. Everyone piled on that hand to get it loose, and while that's going on, I hear "NNNNNGGGHH" and look up to see her moving her head towards my hand, still hanging onto the draw sheet. I have a flashback to every Resident Evil game I've ever played and quickly snatched my hand away from her (an acceptable alternative to shooting her in the head, imo). We get her hand loose and get her the rest of the way drawn over into her bed, and she settles down.
As I'm getting my paperwork signed, I hear her talking, and she suddenly starts talking with a little clearer and more pronounced voice. She looks past me and at the wall and says "You see that there?" and nods her head at the wall. "You see that? That's what they gon' do to that weathertub. They gon' drain that weathertub. Come on, come get in the weathertub!" She exclaims as she starts to kick her sheets off and sit up. Family gets hold of her and lays her back down. They then proceed to lecture her as everyone else in the room stops to watch. This is the most serious this old woman has been the entire time, and a degree of sobriety stains her pale, wrinkled face as her eyes sink a little and her mind seems to gain a little ground on reality. There's a long, quiet pause, and then she looks at her daughter and asks "Well, where can I get a washrag?"
Daughter asks "What do you need a washrag for?"
The old woman responds "So I can do the dishes."
Everyone seems to chuckle about it, but it's also a little sad. Gotta enjoy the little things, though. I wish the family well and leave with my paperwork and my sanity intact.
) wanted him to go to that specific hospital was that it was closest. The alternative was 5 minutes further up the road.
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