#i have a picc line so i just grab a syringe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

page-doctor-bekker · 3 years

Note

From the medical prompts list - delirium for Ava (any setting/fic of your choice) <3

Thank you for the submission! This fic contains drug addiction and withdrawal. It takes place in my brand-new addict!ava rheesker au!

Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter - addict!ava, rheesker (rhodes/reese/bekker)

(A/N) idk if i like this but whatever, enjoy! first rheesker fic!

"Ava, do you know where you are?"

"Med..." She slurred, drooling onto her vomit-covered chin. Her left shoulder jerked forward repetitively a few times, and she moaned.

"Ava, you're at my apartment, can you tell me what you took?" Connor spoke in a stable, yet urgent, tone, "I can't help you unless you tell me what you took."

"Why are you in my house?" Ava hardly moved her blue-tinged lips when she spoke, making her speech practically incoherent. Connor looked around for any clues, rolling up the blonde's sleeves for bruising.

No fucking way.

"Ava, just head over to my place. I know your lease doesn't end for another week, but there's no reason for you to sleep on that air mattress when I have a perfectly good apartment you can sleep at."

Instead of the expected bruising from an injection site, he found something horrifying: A janky PICC line in her bicep.

"Ava, where did you get this PICC line?" He prompted, shaking her shoulder to get her attention, "Did you put this in yourself?"

It certainly didn't seem like the work of a premier surgeon, who he happened to know excelled in central line placement, but putting one in by herself would have been a whole other ball game. Impossible, certainly impossible without an X-ray machine.

The PICC line was certainly not the greatest work - If a doctor did that to a patient, he'd be out of a job. There was blood leaking out from around the catheter, clotting up under the clear dressing.

There was trash in the area; The remnants of a saline flush and a heparin flush, a dressing change kit, a used swab cap, three unlabeled syringes (presumably from whatever drug she had used), a used Biopatch, and all the packaging from those supplies.

"Siri, text Sarah," He yelled frantically, running for the package of Narcan, and his keys.

"What would you like to say to Sarah?"

"Ava overdosed, giving Narcan and taking her to med. Meet us in the ER," Connor barked. He ripped open the box, grabbed an auto-injector, and pulled it out of it's case to start the instructional audio.

"Okay, it's sent."

He pulled off the red safety guard once he got back to Ava. He placed the end on her outer thigh shakily, and pressed down as hard as he could. He felt it click. Ava grunted.

"5," The pen's voice started, "4, 3," Connor stared at Ava's face, "2, 1. Injection complete."

Connor moved up to her chest, administering a rough sternal rub. Ava's eyes flickered open, "What the fuck?"

"Glad you're here Avie, let's get you to Med," Connor threaded one arm under her arms and one arm under her knees and lifted.

"No, no... I don't need Med, stop..."

"Is that... Coke?" Connor asked, in shock. Ava looked up at him once she was done, and shook her head. She sniffled a little bit.

"Low dose of Oxycodone," She said, "My doctor prescribed it because..." She paused for a moment, "I get crazy pain on my period."

Connor raised an eyebrow, "You have opioids for... Period pain?"

"You wouldn't get it."

Connor carried her into the waiting room, and through the doors.

"Connor?!"

"Ava Bekker, IV drug overdose, had one dose of Narcan and woke up, passed out en route."

Maggie was shocked, "Treatment three..? Uh... Will, treatment three."

"And page Sarah!"

"Dr. Charles said that high functioning addicts are one of the most dangerous types of addicts, because they are less likely to see that they have a problem and seek help."

"Sarah, I'm not an addict."

"Hey, I just got your text what... How?"

"Something IV. We're waiting on the tox screen. Er... Look at this," Connor scooted closer to the bed, and rolled up Ava's sleeve, showing Sarah the janky PICC line.

"She got... She got a central line? What doctor would-"

"She placed it herself, Sarah."

Sarah's mouth fell open. She looked at the sleeping Ava on the hospital bed, held her hands up in front of her, "Wait," She shook her head. Tears welled up in her eyes, "Wait, Ava, we went out to dinner last night, she bought a bottle of some... fancy wine, she came back to my place, she helped me pack, we were supposed to move in, what is going on!?"

"Sarah, she's being treated, she's going to be fine," Connor looked up at Sarah, "She's going to get to go home."

"I'm not letting her come home," Sarah said sharply, "Not until she goes to rehab and comes out sober. AND enrolls in outpatient care."

"You sound so angry," He looked up at her, "We knew this would happen, we talked about it. We've even talked about it with Ava. Why do you sound so surprised?"

Sarah shrugged and rolled her eyes, pulling up a seat next to Connor, "I don't know. I just... I'm just stressed out. Working, moving in with you, now this? I just," She gave a short sigh, "I feel like I'm drowning in it all."

The two sat silently for a moment. Sarah reached her hand out to where Connor was holding Ava's, and held both of their hands in her left hand.

"Are they going to pull the line?"

"I assume so, but I don't know when."

"Street drugs? Jesus, Ava, do you even know how much damage I saw from street drugs when I worked in the ED?"

"I have rounds," Sarah looked at her watch, "Sorry. Um, page me if anything changes or if she gets moved up onto a floor, and let me know when you get tox screen results," She started to leave, then turned back around, "..I love you, Con," She looked over to Ava, "I love you, Ava."

Ava, of course, didn't respond. But Connor did, "I love you too, Sarah."

(A/N) idk if i like this, but it's a good start for this au! i know for sure that placing a picc line yourself is a horrible, dangerous thing, and nearly impossible, but just wait for the next part of this :)

#rheesker #rhodes x reese x bekker #ava x connor x sarah #chicago med #addiction tw #overdose tw #reesker #rhekker #rheese #ava bekker #sarah reese #connor rhodes #addict!ava

29 notes · View notes

sweensteennsfw · 7 years

Text

Catheter removal in 3 easy steps

For reasons unknon, following my double-valve replacement open-heart surgery, my bladder was more “shy than ever before. Lucky fior me I was fittted with an “anchored foley “

While this definitely was better than the “in/out” catheter I’d grown somehow accustomed to in my previous stay; It had detrimental side effects all the same.

In order to keep the tube from sliding out accidentally, once the catheter was inserted, the nurse took a syringe of salinde and somehow pumped a “bubble” at the far end, somewhere past the far end of my urethra. Being the neorotic and clumsy person I am, I asked my nurse, “Have you ever seen one pull out?”

A troubled look came over her face, “yea, we had this one older fella once. Alzheimers. Didnt even realize he’d pulled it out. Blood everywhere…..” She trailed off.

I pulled a little too hard now and again. Only discomfort, but on hell of a scare.

My problem came about two dsays before I was to be released.

“we’re going to go ahead and take your catheter out, Doctor says we can’t let you go unless you’re urinating on your own.” My nurse informed me.

The next morning, my doctor showed up for her morning visit…Still, I’d tried and tried to urinate on my own to no avail. After a bladder scan they’d opted to reinsert my catheter.

“You don’t undrstand!” I pleaded, “ I have an unrealistically shy bladder, and now It’s more pres sure than ever. ‘If you don’t go on your own, You don’t go home’; I guarantee you doc, and, please trust me: Once I’m home this problem will disappear!”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Sweeney ( I’d repeatedly asked them to please call me Jeff. I hated being called ‘Mr. Sweeney’) Although I believe you, hospital policy won’t allow that. I’ve talked it over with the team and in your case, if we need to, we’re willing to send you home with a foley. You can return a few days later to have it removed” she said.

I’d have nearly agree to anything, to get home sooner, “Sure”, I said

III

On the morning of my discharge, they loaded me into my wheelchair. I was accustomed to it by now, what irked me was the addition of a very visible piss container latched to the back, with a semi visible tube hardwired to my penis.

As they wheeled me to my awaiting ride, I eagerly jumped as well as I could into the back seat .and felt a sharp tug from my quickly forgotten about tether.

this won’t do at all. I thought to myself on the way home. the wheelchair was enough of a hinderance, I’d surprisingly adapted to using one with only one-hand. I figured I’d get enough stares from people sans the perpetually attached container of urine, always within 3 feet of myself. I told myself I’d get it out on my own. I’m no masochist, so I couldn’t just yank the damned thing out. I’d improvise,

While finally getting back home was more gratifying than you could ever imagine, The wheelchair/Pissbag combination dampened my mood quickly.

Trying to maneuver through the hall of a single wide trailer in a wheelchair was enough of a task for me,,,The addition of my tethered bag of lemonade just increased my resolve to be rid of it.

Upon my return home I’d noticed some empty saline syringes that Mom had left over from cleaning her PICC line. Should the connector match the one on the end of my catheter, I’d found my exit strategy!]

The first time I found myself home alone, I resolved to get my problem corrected.

I grabbed an empty syringe and made my way to the bathroom, dropped my pants and got to work

The connectors seemed to match. What luck!! Now the matter of getting it connected with one hand. I steadied the tube as best i could with my knees, used my one hand to get the ends connected. When I heard the unmistakable click of the ends successfully connecting, I allowed myself to smile. I used my mouth to pull up on the syringe. The saline holding the catheter in place was removed fairly quickly. I gave it a few more pulls to be safe.

Once I was sure I was out of the danger zone I disconnected the syringe. and cautiously pulled the tube out, Luckily, It was smooth sailing. I hurried to the trash can and buried this monstrosity as far down as I could.

Things seemed fine…..Until later that evening I felt the strongest urge to urinate that I’ve ever felt.

Once in the bathroom I stood for a minute, and no matter how hard I tried I could not urinate. oh my God, what have I done? I wondered.

Taking the advice they’d given me in the hospital, I sat down to give it a go.After a few minutes of nothing, I let my mind wander. Eventually, I felt a sensation I’d not felt in long time: I was urinating on my own!” relief swept over me as I pissed what seemed longer than I ever had before. Success!

A few days later the phone rang

“Hello?” I answered.

“Hello, Mr. Sweeney?

“Yes Ma'am”

“This is Dr. soandso from UK Health. I’m calling to remind you of your appointment later this week to get that catheter removed:”

“I’ll need to cancel that. I’ve already removed it.

“You removed your own catheter?” she sounded puzzled.

“Yes ma’am, It was easy, and once I was home I had no trouble at all urinating.”I figured I’d leave out the fact I’d properly removed it, and leave the rest to her imagination.

Anyone I tell the story thinks I’m either crazy-high pain tolerant or stupid. I agree there’s some truth to the latter.

0 notes

page-doctor-bekker · 3 years

Text

Exposé - msbp!au

(A/N) So this is like, an exposition I guess. It’s necessary for the rest of the story. Ginormous trigger warning for allusions to child abuse, gaslighting + manipulation.

Sarah's vision blurred, as she faded in and out of consciousness. The pain is intense, and she feels like she might die. This isn't survivable. The worst of the pain hits her all at once, and she lets out a blood-curdling scream into her gag. After that pain, nothing.

"Oh Sarie, I have some bad news," His voice cut through the pain, like a scalpel in her lower back, "You're going to be in a wheelchair for the rest of your life..."

"Good morning Sarie," Sarah's dad sung, turning on the overhead lights as he walked into her room. He was holding a medium-sized pink bin, lined with a sterile sheet to create a sterile field, with a few syringes and medications, as well as sterile gloves, alcohol swabs, and a few other supplies. Sarah was scared awake, letting out a short groan. Her dad pulled a chair up, before pulling on a pair of gloves and disconnecting Sarah's PICC line from her overnight infusion.

He opened up a 10mL saline flush, screwed it onto the end of her line, and slowly pushed the plunger, drained the syringe into the line. Next, he pulled out another syringe, this time a 3mL syringe, half-full with clear liquid. He connected the syringe to the line, and administered the medication. She almost instantaneously felt calmer and sedated, as the Ativan coursed through her system. He proceeded to flush the line with more saline, then a syringe of Heparin. After that flush, he finished off the line by screwing on a swab cap. He tucked the line under the PICC cover, and pulled off and disposed of his gloves. Lastly, he helped Sarah sit up, and guided a small cup of pills into her shaky hand. He gave her a water cup with a straw, and helped her take her pills.

Sarah's dad moved her wheelchair closer to the bed and locked the wheels. He gently took the blankets off of her body, and threaded his left arm under her knees, and his right arm under her armpits around her body. He lifted her into her wheelchair, and buckled up her seatbelt. He hummed to her as he put her minimalist neck brace on to keep her head from flopping forward. The brace had a strap around the back of her neck, with two hard plastic pieces at the sides of her neck. The top of those plastic pieces split off onto a chin pad to hold her chin in place, and the bottoms of the plastic pieces split off into two rods that joined in a v-shape at her sternum.

Sarah’s dad turned off her overnight oxygen concentrator, and started peeling the cannula tape off of her prominent cheekbones. Sarah coughed a few times as the oxygen stopped.

“Today is tube change day,” Her dad announced, and Sarah was wheeled into the kitchen where she was sat at the table. Her dad started rummaging through the formula cabinet, "Do you want something to eat before we leave for the hospital?"

Sarah was quiet for a moment, trying to process those words through her Ativan-jumbled brain, "...Yes..." She finally decided, speaking slowly, "Can... I have... a..." She paused, thinking of what she wanted, "Cereal..."

"Yes," Sarah's dad confirmed, moving to fix her a bowl of cereal. A few quiet, zoned-out minutes later she was presented with a bowl of fruit loops. Her dad fitted the rings of her adaptive spoon onto her pointer finger and her thumb, and she started to spoon her cereal into her mouth. Her dad sat down to supervise as always, to make sure she didn't aspirate.

He multi-tasked, filling her feed bag with four cartons of formula and 8 ounces of Miralax mixed into water. He closed up the bag, and fitted the tubing into the Infinity pump. He flipped the bag upside down, and pushed the button to prime the tube. Once formula started dripping out of the end of the tube, he stopped.

Sarah's dad lifted her shirt, gently pulled the split gauze off from around her tube, and cleaned the area, "Today we have..." He grabbed the small fabric circle from the table, "Purple and pink stripes!" He fitted the tubie pad around her tube and clipped it together, and let her shirt fall.

Sarah finished her cereal, and watched as her dad tucked the bag of formula and the pump into one of Sarah’s various backpacks, and hung it on the back of her wheelchair. This particular backpack was a pale pink, with a panda on the front. On the lower right side of the backpack there was a plastic port where the tubing came out of. On the right side of Sarah’s wheelchair, between the back of the chair and the armrest was a velcro strap that held the tube out of the way of the wheel. He left her for a moment, grabbing an ice pack to tuck into the bag with the formula.

Sarah watched him, puzzled and confused, “Why aren’t you starting feeds?”

“Yes, we are going to the hospital today, you are due to have your tube replaced,” He started a sterile field, and started to draw up the day’s medications, five IV syringes and one G-tube syringe. He capped the syringes and tossed them into a plastic bag. He put her nighttime pills into a small pill container, and put it in the bag as well, “Just in case we aren’t home in time,” He put the bag into her backpack, “

Sarah started coughing a dry, rough cough. Her dad rubbed her back with one hand, and reaching over onto the table for her portable oxygen concentrator. He tucked the cannula into her nose and turned it on. She started to breathe easier, and her dad smiled.

Once she started to feel better, he spoke up, “I need to stop the machine so I can put this in your backpack and organize the tubing, okay?”

She nodded, and he turned the machine off and unplugged the tubing from the machine. Working quickly, he looped the excess tubing up and secured it with a tubie clip that he clipped to her shirt. He fed the tubing through the the velcro port in the back of her wheelchair, then through the port in her backpack. The oxygen concentrator went into the backpack, and he turned in back on once it was set up.

Once she was all set up, her dad looked at his watch, “I think it’s time to get this show on the road!”

Sarah nodded, and leaned against her headrest while her dad pushed her through the house, then out the door.

Sarah dozed all the way to the hospital, barely lucid enough to realize when she was being taken out of the car, and into the hospital.

“Let’s take a look at the ol’ g-tube then, ready?” Sarah was woken from her daze by the doctor, a brunette woman that Sarah had seen multiple times before, Dr. Manning.

Sarah nodded at the doctor, leaning back and lifting her shirt up to the underwire of her bra, exposing the tube.

“Mind if I give her her 11:00 meds?” Her dad inquired, looking at his watch. The doctor nodded and Sarah’s dad stole a pair of gloves from the wall and started fiddling with her PICC line. He pushed her morphine first, which immediately started to chill her out even more than the Ativan. The next medication was Benadryl, which was followed by saline and Heparin.

As the Benadryl kicked in, Sarah dozed off just in time for Dr. Manning to pull the tube out for the change.

An indiscernable amount of time later, Sarah woke up in a hospital bed, a different room from the procedure room she had been in before.

“Sarah?” Her dad whispered, looking up from his phone. Sarah made a noise in the back of her throat, feeling a thin tube down her throat, and rubbed her eyes, before looking at her dad.

“Dad?” She croaked, “Where... Why are we here? Why do I have a nose tube?”

“You have an infection,” He explained, scooting closer to her bed and grabbing her right hand, “In your tube. They want to keep you here because of your immunodeficiency, they want to be a little more aggressive this ti-”

There was a knock at the door, and a doctor and a nurse walked in. They both helped themselves to some hand sanitizer off of the wall, and greeted her dad. Sarah settled back down, staying quiet.

“Whenever ANYONE in the hospital comes to talk to us, you stay QUIET. Do you hear me? Sarah, look at me. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? You are to remain absolutely silent. Do not tell them anything, you don’t understand what you’re talking about anyways. I’m the only one that can advocate for you. You’re only going to make things worse.”

“Do you have any idea how this infection might have started? Any other signs of illness, maybe another infection that spread? Have you travelled recently?”

“No, none of that.”

“And you’re always touching the tube with clean hands, cleaning it twice a day, using clean gauze, clean supplies, bathing often?”

“Yes, very clean. I’m very careful. She’s immunocompromised, and I would never do anything that could put her in danger.”

Sarah’s stomach churned. No, not clean.

“And you’re the only one who handles her tube? Is mom involved? Home healthcare nurses, babysitters?”

“Nope, it’s just me,” Sarah’s dad laughed, “Her mother took off, left me in the dust. No help I ever see! And I don’t let anyone else handle her tube.”

“Well, I think we’re going to go in for endoscopy to see what’s going on inside, see if the infection is in her stomach as well, maybe bacterial gastroenteritis, ulcers, buried bumper syndrome. We’ll see what we can find and take some more cultures.”

“Dirty tube...”

Sarah’s dad looked at her with a wrath hotter than a thousands suns, and then chuckled at the doctors, “Sorry, she just woke up. Sometimes she echoes what she hears from others, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“My tube is dirty,” She asserted groggily.

“Sweetheart, they just cleaned it an hour ago, it’s not dirty,” Sarah’s dad reassured, squeezing her hand. She sighed, and laid back.

The doctor left, and Sarah’s dad dropped her hand aggressively, “What do you think you’re doing?” He hissed, “They will take you away from me and hurt you. Is that what you want?”

Sarah shook her head.

“You will die without me. Do you understand? I do everything for you. I care for you, I do everything with no help. God forbid I make mistakes. God forbid I forget things sometimes.”

She looked away.

He grabbed the tube and pulled her to face him, which yanked the tape off of her cheek. She coughed as the tubing shifted in her throat.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” He scowled at her, before putting on a worried face, “Nurse!” He flagged down a nurse walking by their door, “She pulled the tape off. Poor thing, she doesn’t understand.”

(A/N) anyways sorry ava wasn’t in this one, i just needed to set the scene lol. hope you enjoyed!

#msbp!au #child abuse tw #abuse tw #reesker #well it will be at some point #sarah reese #robert haywood #chicago med #chicago med au #reesker au #crockettstiddies

19 notes · View notes