True Colors

The good news: I think Pooh-Bear (sorry, I still feel compelled to call her that) is going to do just fine.

The bad news: Either she really and truly is developmentally arrested in more ways than one, or the cutesy-cutesy is all an act.

The other bad news: I am really NOT going to like working with her.

The other good news: The Expert has her number, too.

What I learned in class yesterday and today: It is ALL ABOUT POOH-BEAR. And I do mean ALL. Now playing: The Pooh-Bear Show. Starring Pooh-Bear.

We have a certain number of "lab" hours during the week, during which time we are supposed to practice for our competencies. Competencies are about twice a month, and they're a sort of practical exam. They're used to show that we are able to perform the tasks that we are being taught.

This week is bed baths and changing the linens for a bedbound patient. Not the easiest thing in the world, but other than a couple of minor points that are sort of counterintuitive, it's a pretty logical process.

Our lab time is limited, because we have a large class. We still get the number of hours required by the state for our certifications, but we can't really go over our scheduled time if we need extra practice. Yesterday and today, we had an hour and a half. Pooh-Bear used the ENTIRE hour and a half yesterday to practice, which meant the rest of us were either patients or observers. Now, the entire bed bath and linen change is supposed to take half an hour, but at that point, it was ok. We're all still learning and trying to figure out what to do next.

When lab time came up again today, Pooh-Bear immediately said that she wanted to do the bath and bed change. Now mind you, none of the rest of us had gotten a turn yet, but I thought...ok. I don't think I'm going to have much problem with this, maybe let it slide this time. So Token Male got into the hospital bed to be the patient, and Pooh-Bear started practicing.

Well, it wasn't long before it became clear that she really, REALLY doesn't have a good grasp on the whole process. I had the checklist, but thought it would be most helpful to let her try to figure out what came next, and prompt her if she got stuck, rather than walking her through the whole thing step by step. She's going to have to know it without prompting for competencies. Naturally, among those of us who were just standing around while she monopolized the practice time, conversations were taking place. They were not loud or disruptive. Most of them were actually relevant - maybe questions to the staff who was supervising our group, situations we'd seen before that it might be good to keep in mind, that sort of thing. The occasional smart-aleck comment to keep things light.

Well, Pooh-Bear didn't like this. Apparently we were to be giving her our full and reverent attention, because it was "too noisy" and we were being "disruptive" by talking (never mind that the other groups were making enough noise that it wouldn't have mattered a bit if we'd all been mutes) and she was "really trying to concentrate" because she "felt it was important for her to be very competent at this," although apparently it's not important that the rest of us get ANY practice in whatsoever and become competent ourselves. Of course, there were plenty of remarks from her about how much HARDER it was going to be for her because she's SOOOO TIIII-NEEEEEE. I refrained from commenting that the difficulty she was having was more due to her overall cluelessness than her stature or the "noise" we were making. Finally, the supervisor pointed out to her that the noise was there to stay, it was going to be noisy in the hospital too, and she really had better just learn to deal with it. Her response? "Well, people in the hospital aren't being rude." By then, I'd had about enough. I looked her right in the eye and said, "I don't think we're being rude at all." I'm quite sure she also caught the unspoken "and I DARE you to argue with me, because honey? I'm fully prepared to launch into you about who's being rude to whom here." Well, no response to that, but she sure wasn't happy. During all this time that she was "concentrating" and "needing quiet," She kept on making comments about how she was going to do this or that "special" thing for her patients, like rub their back with warm lotion after their bath, whatever. First of all, good luck with finding the time for that when you have 8 patients who all need baths and bed changes before lunch. Second of all, shut up about how great you're going to be at this and all the "extras" you're going to provide if you can't even handle the basic requirements. And finally? Most grown men and women don't want to hear about how you're going to soak their "little feeties" for them or cover them with a "nice warm blankie" or push back their cuticles so they look "nice and sweet and pretty." Yes, this is how she was talking to our "patient."

A few minutes later, she decided that I really, really needed to focus my attention on her, her, her. I should be reading the checklist to her as we went. When I pointed out that it may be more beneficial for her to see if she could decide on her own what came next, she said, "ok...well, I guess we'll do it YOUR way." And why not? The last two days had been devoted to doing it her way. Maybe throw one of us a bone?

Finally, after taking an hour of our second lab day, she was done and let someone else have a turn. But for all of her posturing about how badly she wanted to learn and become competent, did she stay over by our hospital bed to observe or assist? Nope. She went and sat down in the lecture area and talked to someone. Which was fine with the rest of us, because by then, we'd all had about enough of her.

Actually, I take that back. She did come back to the group long enough to tell us that we should really be TALKING to our patient. "We want them to feel like they're a person to us." I felt like asking "do we want them to feel like they're a toddler to us? Because honey, you've got that down COLD." This was especially annoying because the supervisor had already JUST gone over ways we could be making conversation with our patient as we're doing all this, and we had been doing just that. Lucky for Pooh-Bear, she went back to her seat in the lecture area after she was done chastising us, because if she had stayed much longer, I may have had to throw a bedpan at her. As it was, I contented myself with very pointedly asking Token Male if he'd rather I read every step to him or let him try to figure them out. He played right along..."let me figure it out. Otherwise how are we really supposed to learn this stuff? That's the only way to do it." Hee!

It's going to be a long semester.

Token Male is still feeling too uncomfortable with being one of the only men in the class to really stand up to her yet, I think, but it will come. In the meantime, The Expert and I have decided that we'll be making sure Pooh-Bear gets NO more of the practice time for this particular competency. None. And just let her try to hog the practice for the next one.