Weekday
The weekly feature page of the University Daily Kansan
December 6,1978
"Once I am not responsible anymore for patient care, I let myself get tired. When I am taking care of patients, I can generate enough adrenalin to be fairly awake and do the right thing."
Lida Osbern, a second-year resident in internal medicine, prepares to start the patient's heartbeat by sending electric volts through his body. Although the defibrillation did not work, a shot of adrenaline started the heart beating on its own.
Marathon Medicine
Osbern is one of five doctors in the University of Kansas Medical Center emergency room. Osbern works a 24-hour shift every other day.
9:30 a.m. A gunry carrying a Code Blue heart attack patient is runched down the hall. A pump forces the man's chest to rise and fall, rise and fall. His face is blue. His eyes are closed.
Lida Osbern, second year internal medicine resident, goes to work.
"How long has he been out?" she asks.
How long has he been out and the users
"About five minutes," an attendant replies.
Osborn puts a stethoscope to his chest, hoping to hear a heartbeat. It isn't there. An electrocardiograph records heart action forced by the pump.
Another machine with a tiny blue-white light showing every heartbeat is hooked up. Defibilator buttons are on the keyboard.
"Everybody get back," she said. She zipped his beard, arched and fell on the table. Still no response.
A large syringe of adrenaline is prepared. The needle is eased into the chest. The liquid is inhaled.
"We've got a pulse," a nurse says.
"Oh great." Osbern says smiling.
The heart is now beating on its own. It looks as if the man will live.
"Well that's fun when you can bring someone back from death," Olsen said, stepping away from the desk.
Osbern walks to the man's side.
"Sir, can you hear me? Can you hear me?" You're at a UCI Medical Center and you had another patient.
The man had collapsed on a street and fellow workers started cardiopulmonary resuscitation. He was transported to the hospital.
Osbern walks out into the hall. The patient's wife is awaiting news.
"When we clean him up a little bit, we'll let you move us down cedarhill," he reassures us.
"When we clean him up a little more, he sometimes says reassuringly, 'The woman smiles. "I’d appreciate that," she
"It it used to scare me to death, but I've run enough codes now that there are certain things you try and you keep trying until you get something that works," she said.
"I think that a Code Blue is probably the most challenging, but that is what I like the best—acutely ill patients where you have to decide what is wrong with them and get them quickly taken care of. I'm not sure and my initial impression and any emergency treatment it's turned over to the ward."
The procedure Osbern has performed is just a part of her 24-hour shift in the Med Center.
Although Osher deals with life and death every day, she said the death of a patient still had a
"It's especially hard on services like renal and hematology, where the people will never get better, the same as with our current patient, and when I lose one, I go through a grief reaction and cry with the family."
"A lot of times if people appease caulled and
with them emotions, they help them deal with
with their own emotions.
"The most frustrating thing about working the emergency room is treating e.r. (emergency room) abusers who use the e.r. service for the common cold and flu simply because its easier than finding a private physician to follow them through all their problems.
"Conversely, the most rewarding part is when it is a problem that can be cured with certain medicine or certain treatments to where they are feeling better within a short period of time, such as surgery."
5:30 p.m. A man with an oxygen mask comes in. He is suffering from pulmonary emboli, or blood clots, in his lungs. His breathing is raspy. His head turns from side to side, a pained look on his face. He's dehydrated, and his chest is correct. Heparin, a blood thinner, is given. The man is transferred to an intensive care unit.
Dinner time. Osbern munches on a cold Wendy's hamburger. A moment of rest.
Ballet lessons once a week provide a release that Osborn says she can never do without.
"I look forward to that one hour so much and I don't miss it for anything," she said.
Although time is limited for the 28-year-old resident, her husband had adjusted to her caring career.
"I think the husband of a woman in medicine has one eye with a strong goe," she said. He had no other eyes.
**Davis:** Yes, he did.
The flow of patients slows down. A movie comes on the television. Clad in green garb, she lay's on her bed.
She said, "I need at least one hour of sleep and if I don't get at least one, preferably two hours, I get to the point where I am really draggy. When I am taking care of patients, I can generate enough adrenaline to be fairly awake and do the right thing." She said, "You can anymore for patient care, I let myself get tired. Sometimes I am so tired I don't eat. And I love to eat."
An old man comes in wheezing, with a sack of an medicine under his arm. Osbern listens to his chest with a stethoscope. X-rays are taken. The man chatters away. Osbern patiently listens, even though it’s 3 a.m. An ear infection he has left, the man is prescribed and the man is left, still chattering, in the waiting room.
Osbern dragged back to bed for a couple more hours of precious sleep.
7: 30 a.m. Only half an hour left. Osborn is awake and checking on the status of the Code Blue
The report is good. His pupils react to light. He is moving around. His condition is improved. It still is not known how much brain damage he has. He was struck by Oksen, have made it through the worst part.
Oobern and another resident smile over electrocardiogram results, which show a normal heartbeat. Moments earlier, the man had no heartbeat and no pulse.
Story by Barb Koenig Photos by Trish Lewis