Like almost everyone else these days, my hospital is in the throes of cutting all kinds of "extra" costs. Our department, like all the others, has a census to meet, and if we don't see the number of patients we're budgeted to, then bad things may start happening - like not filling positions when staff leave and other things too awful to contemplate. It's a balancing act. How many people can you see on a daily basis and still have staff standing at the end of the shift?
It was a little slow at first today, which was a good thing for us but a bad thing for the census. My boss, whom I'm repeatedly on record as adoring, walked through the unit to take a peek. Not good. We needed people. Lots and lots of people. People crawling out of the woodwork. The sicker and needier the better. We needed to be overwhelmed, running for daylight, praying for our own deaths. And there was only one way to do it.
My boss approached the charge nurse and said the magic words.
"You need to put RC in triage."
Presto. The census was not only met...it was exceeded.
Such is the power of a shit magnet.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Posted by the rotten correspondent at 12:02 AM